


Ten Years of Peace (And a Few More of War)

by BoxyP



Series: The Lion and The Snake [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, One Shot Collection, Post-First War with Voldemort, TBWatH/TLaTS Tie-In
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11449749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxyP/pseuds/BoxyP
Summary: One-shots tying into my primary AU, where Lily Evans' different choices drastically altered her generation's paths, resulting in her changing the wizarding world after Voldemort's downfall with the help of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, while Harry Potter got to grow up with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin on stories of the (in)famous Marauders.Covering years directly post The Path Not Tread, and extending through to and into The Lion and The Snake series (1980-1998), the collection contains additional scenes and explores side characters.





	1. September 1991 – Hermione's Hero

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of one-shots tying into my primary AU verse, which is composed of two prequel/sequel series. The prequel story (The Path Not Tread) is set in the Marauder era, and is a what-if AU branching from a canon argument Lily and Severus had, in which I explore how something as small as saying three sentences in different order might eventually result in a completely altered canonical history. The sequel series (The Lion and The Snake) follows the canon timeline of this alternate universe, with the biggest change being that James and Lily do not marry, and instead, Harry's mother is Lily's good friend Mary Macdonald, while Lily has a son named Evan with Severus. Harry is still the Boy Who Lived, but due to the changes in the Marauder era that eventually impact all of the main characters of that time, Sirius is stopped by Remus from going after Peter, does not end up wrongly convicted in Azkaban, and is therefore Harry's primary guardian, raising him on the stories of the Marauders and their adventures. Meanwhile, Lily's survival in the First Wizarding War results in drastic changes to the political situation of Wizarding Britain, as she becomes something of a revolutionary, introducing the Muggle concept of political parties to the governance model, pushing for massive schooling reforms that are less isolationist from the Muggle world than in canon, and helping to secretly institute a much stronger and continued influence of the Order of the Phoenix on the main players on the political stage in an attempt to suppress the Pure-blood-led anti-Muggle sentiment that helped Lord Voldemort reach such heights during the First Wizarding War.
> 
> New readers might want to keep this in mind when checking out this particular body of work. I've started off the collection with something that should be mostly self-explanatory so long as you keep in mind that this is an alternate universe you're dealing with. That said, the one-shots will have a wider range than the primary stories, as I'll use them to explore side characters and events that weren't directly relevant to the big plotlines of the primary stories. I'll update as I come up with things, which means it won't be chronological and it won't be regular. If anyone has requests or is interested in some aspect of my alternate universe, I'm open to doing them, so long as I'm not already planning to put them in somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first one-shot fits somewhere quite soon after Chapter 8 of 'The Lion, The Snake and The Stone', and, as the date would suggest, at the beginning of their first year of Hogwarts.

When Professor Minerva McGonagall had come to the Granger home in April of 1991 to inform them that their only daughter was a witch, Hermione’s world changed in what was perhaps the most drastic way she could ever have imagined, and not simply because the stern-looking teacher had revealed to her that she could do magic. No, it was for a much simpler reason than that – it was because with her explanation, Professor McGonagall had finally made all those strange little instances in Hermione’s life make sense.

Like that time when those girls were making fun of her hair, and the next day one of them hadn’t shown up for school because, gossip had revealed later, all her hair had fallen out in the night, or that time when she’d been at the bookstore and the book she’d really wanted, on the highest shelf, had slid out and fallen on the ground right by her feet, or dozens of other little ones that had made Hermione think something was different about her. Now she knew what it was, and she felt finally, for the first time, at ease with herself.

Her curiosity had been impossible to contain after that, and she found as many books as she could about magic and the wizarding world, and spent her summer reading through them almost obsessively. She read _Hogwarts, A History_ and _The History of Magical Britain_ and she even found one called _Magical Heritage: Why Purity Matters_ , which she thought was one-sided and bigoted and insulting, even if it did introduce her to the concepts of Pure-bloods, Half-bloods and Muggle-borns. There was a lot of information about someone everyone called You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which was just absurd and extremely frustrating, because it was ridiculously hard to find what this supposedly dangerous Dark Wizard was even called properly, and she learned all about the Potters, James and Mary Potter, who gave their lives to stop You-Know-Who, and their son Harry, who somehow survived with only a scar on his forehead. The people who wrote these books loved James and Mary Potter, but they adored Harry Potter, calling him The-Boy-Who-Lived, most of them insisting that he’d survived the Killing Curse, though Hermione had managed to find out eventually that the Killing Curse was unstoppable, which made her think they were all just being stupid and exaggerating.

But the one person Hermione grew to love reading about the most, she discovered very late in the summer, when she finally got to the texts about after the war (she was a proper historical researcher, of course, which meant that she was going to go absolutely chronologically and not jump to newer information until she’d learn of the older first, because that was how time worked and it would be hard to understand stuff that came later if she didn’t know the stuff that came before). That person was a Muggle-born who had made what Hermione gathered was the biggest change in the history of Wizarding British politics, the person who fought against everything Hermione had disliked in that stupid purity book, and her name was Lily Evans.

She knew that Lily Evans had been only twenty-one years old when the war had ended and she’d become very active in politics. She knew that Lily Evans was the one who’d created the first wizarding political party in Britain, the Coalition for Muggle-born Witches and Wizards, and she knew that Lily Evans had apparently modernised Hogwarts, which sounded very bloody amazing to Hermione, since she’d read _Hogwarts, a History_ and both knew that Hogwarts had barely changed in the last thousand years _and_ had been afraid that she’d not get proper normal subjects in school, like Mathematics and English Literature and Science. But most of all, Hermione loved Lily Evans because she was just like Hermione, Muggle-born and smart and a girl, and she’d showed the whole world that being all those things was something to be proud of. Hermione, who’d never had proper friends because no one liked snooty, know-it-all, book-obsessed, ugly girls, decided that she wanted to be _just_ like her new hero. She wanted to be somebody the whole world would be proud of.

* * *

 

When Hermione entered the library, the Slytherin first-year she’d met two weeks ago was sitting at the table in the corner, reading what appeared to be a letter. Hermione took a moment to study him, from the way he seemed self-contained and orderly, to his greasy hair that hung around his face. She’d seen him yesterday with clean hair, and it really took her by surprise again, how quickly it got greasy-looking. She could go for weeks without washing her hair without it appearing any less clean than it did when she’d freshly washed it. She imagined most curly hair was like that.

“Why don’t you ever tie your hair back?” she asked him, placing her bag on the floor by the chair she chose for herself. “Or cut it short? It’d look less...”

“Dirty?” Evan Snape finished for her with a long-suffering sigh. “Shockingly, I _like_ my hair long and loose, and I can’t very well help it that I have a horrible hair type.”

“Yes, but _why_?”

“I dunno; why don’t you cut your hair short?”

“Because I’d look even worse than I look now with it.”

“I don’t know; it might be easier to manage.”

She gave him the stink eye – and it was such a pleasing surprise that she had someone whom she _could_ give such a look without them being horrible to her in the next moment and then never speaking to her again – and dropped the conversation.

Instead, she pulled out her newest book, _The Intricacies of Modern Wizarding Warfare and the Consequences Thereof: From Grindelwald to You-Know-Who and Beyond_ , along with their Charms and Transfiguration homework assignments.

“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re reading that,” Evan muttered when his eyes fell on her stuff.

“Why not? It seems like a good book.”

“It’s supposed to be a book about tactics and battles and other gory war things, and they wouldn’t even write You-Know-Who’s name,” he groused. “Mum’s always on about that.”

“ _You_ don’t say Voldemort’s name.”

Unlike most other people she’d met recently, Evan didn’t overtly react to the name.

“Dad doesn’t tolerate the name at home, and I’d rather not call him the Dark Lord, since that has some bad connotations. Usually, they just call him ‘he’ if he comes up in discussion. Guess it’s a habit.”

“It’s ridiculous, you know. It’s just a name, like Hitler and Mussolini and Stalin. There’s no reason not to call him by his name.”

“If that’s his name, that is.”

“You think it’s not?”

“We don’t have lordships in Magical Britain, and there’s certainly _no_ family named Voldemort. I’m pretty sure he made it up himself.”

“Do people _do_ that?”

“Sure, sometimes,” Evan confirmed. “Though, usually it’s just to be fancy in school. My dad called himself the Half-Blood Prince, because his mum was from the Prince family, and he was Half-blood. He signed his books like that. See?”

He pulled out his potions textbook and flipped to the inside of the front covers, where, indeed, there was a faded script stating ‘Property of Half-blood Prince’ in the lower corner. Hermione shook her head at the ridiculousness of it all and just chucked it up to the magical world generally being a little whacky.

“The book’s all right,” she said, “though I’m reading it mostly for the last couple of chapters, cause they talk about Lily Evans in them. Have you heard of her? She’s this famous witch who came up with the idea to make a political party, because she’s Muggle-born and she fought in the war against Voldemort and turned wizarding politics upside-down. She’s really, really amazing, she showed that Muggle-borns are every bit as worthy as Pure-bloods, and I wanted to meet her – she has a shop in Diagon Alley, did you know that, and I suppose it must be a bit tiring to have people coming in just to meet you, but I imagine that’s also good for business, isn’t it – but it was too late when I found this out, it was only two days before we were to come here, but my mum and dad promised they’d take me over the... winter... hols, Evan, are you ok?”

Only now was she noticing the pinched expression on his face that she thought might be the result of his face not knowing whether to laugh or to grimace. He didn’t say anything; instead, he handed her the envelope of the letter he’d been reading. Confused, Hermione looked down at it, wondering what that had to do with her words. The address on the front was simply Evan’s name, which didn’t tell her anything at all.

“What did you want me to see?”

“The envelope; turn it around.”

She did. It wasn’t hard to spot, since it was the only thing on the other side – the return address in the top left corner.

 _Lily Snape_  
_112 Ivory Way_  
_Waltham Forest_  
_London_

“Your mum’s name is Lily, too,” she exclaimed, figuring out that this was why he’d found it so funny. When she looked up, though, he again had that look, and it came to her that she was still missing something. Apparently, that was the look he had when he was finding something funny, but didn’t want to insult anyone by laughing. “I’m not getting it.”

“It’s my mum.”

“Well... yeah.”

“No, I mean, my mum’s maiden name was Evans.”

The penny dropped so noticeably that Hermione could almost imagine it clanging in her head.

“Oh. _Oh_! The... but...”

“Yeah, that’s my mum. She doesn’t use her married name publically, that’s why people don’t really realise it when they come visit the store. I guess they just think Mum and Dad are business partners, not spouses as well.”

“Store?” she repeated dumbly, her mind still stalled at the thought of Evan’s mum being _Lily Evans_. Hermione’s first real friend was _her role model’s son_!

“Our store,” Evan repeated. “The one you wanted to visit, _Snape’s and Evans’ Potions and Charms._ ”

“Oh, I...” Evan’s words brought back a fuzzy memory of the storefront, and that was right, there _was_ Evan’s last name on the name plaque, but she’d _completely_ forgotten, because it hadn’t seemed interesting at the time when she’d visited Diagon Alley, and she’d not even known that it belonged to her role model until right before coming to Hogwarts. “It’s your store.”

Evan was smirking full-on now.

“It does have my name on it, you realise.”

“Oh! _That’s_ where your name comes from!” Hermione exclaimed, almost vibrating in her seat as her hand shot out to clutch at Evan’s sleeve in her excitement. “Evan, because your mum’s maiden name is Evans!”

His smirk turned into a disgruntled frown.

“My parents are corny,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Granted, I like the connection to Mum, but really, they weren’t even married when I was born. Can you imagine, my name _actually_ used to be Evan Evans when I was born? Thank Merlin they changed it as soon as they could, I don’t think I would have lived through _that_ in my House.”

Hermione burst into giggles, and Evan harrumphed, but she did catch the corner of his lip twitch slightly. There was a wealth of unknown in the boy, and every little detail made Hermione more and more intrigued by him, making her mouth want to stretch into a smile every time she thought about the fact that she now had a friend, a real, genuine, good _friend_ , who was so interesting to boot.

A thought occurred to her as her fit passed.

“Wait, even if they weren’t married, why’d you have your Mum’s last name? Don’t kids still get their father’s last name even in those cases?”

Evan grimaced at that.

“Well, my mum and dad’s relationship was a secret in the war, see, so she couldn’t well give me his last name, when no one even knew they were together when I was born.”

“What, really?” Hermione asked, fascinated. “Why was that?”

“Cause...” He paused, face contorting into a grimace Hermione didn’t know how to read. Then he bit his lip and chewed on it for a moment, something she’d not seen him do in the few weeks of their acquaintance, but it came to her that whatever was behind the explanation was obviously something he didn’t want her to know. Yet at the same time, he wasn’t outright rebuffing her question, which meant that he didn’t want to _not_ tell her, either, which meant...

Hermione suppressed a sudden urge to shift nervously in her seat, stomach flipping lightly at the thought that he didn’t want to not tell her because he thought she might get upset with him, which meant that he cared about her, too. “It’s ok. You don’t have to tell me if it’s a secret.”

He blinked and looked at her with his brilliant green eyes, and grimaced again.

“Well, it’s not like it’s much of a secret in most circles, really,” he decided in the end. “My dad was, er... sort-of playing both sides in the war? I don’t know that much,” he said hurriedly, looking around them as if checking to see whether someone could hear their hushed conversation, “but he’s got a lot of war-time acquaintances that are these Pure-blood-superiority obsessed snots, and he was also working with Mum and Gra– Dumbledore, of course, though _that_ ’s still supposed to be just rumour, so you can’t tell anyone.”

“Of course,” she promised immediately, not doubting him for a second; she couldn’t even process the thought that her role model would have married someone who violently opposed her beliefs about something as important in wizarding society as one’s magical heritage. “So how did your parents even get together, then? And why have I never run into any mention of you or your dad in these books?”

“Well, Lily Evans and Lily Snape are almost two different people, see,” the boy explained. “The shop has her last name, they didn’t really have a wedding as such – I think my dad’s head would have blown up if he’d had to deal with a wedding reception – and she had me when she was just another Charms Mastery student, even if she was part of the resistance, so I suppose no one really thought to connect it before she and Dad opened the shop, and by the time they did, she’d already stopped being involved with the politics for almost two years. I mean, it’s not like she hides it or anything, but it’s just like the You-Know-Who thing – these people who write books don’t care about the _actual_ state of things, they just like to interpret, and it looks better when Dad and I aren’t mentioned as existing.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “At least I don’t get accosted by people every time I walk down the Diagon Alley like Mum does.”

“So how did they meet? Was it during the war, in the resistance?”

Evan looked a bit startled by her earnest questions, but sniggered and shook his head after taking a moment to process the inquiry.

“No, no, they grew up together. They were best friends since before Hogwarts, way before they got together.”

“Oh,” Hermione voiced, momentarily disappointed to hear it; the idea of a spy meeting the leader of the resistance, and the two falling in love and having a child in secret sounded far more romantic to her. “Well... can you introduce me? Only, I’ve read _so much_ about her, and she’s so amazing, and I–” Realising how she sounded, Hermione broke off her building tirade and blushed, feeling suddenly embarrassed for what was her usual way of enthusiasm.

In response, Evan rubbed his nose with his fingers and frowned, though Hermione didn’t get the impression from it that he was particularly perturbed by her request.

“All right, but you can’t be all moony about her, yeah?” he said. “It’s my mum; it’d be totally creepy.”

“I... suppose. I mean, I don’t want to be creepy. I just want to meet her, that’s all. I mean, she’s a Muggle-born like me, and she’s done _so much_ to change everything, and I really admire her.”

“Fine; maybe over the winter hols? I’m going home for sure, so you could come to Diagon Alley for the day. I spend most of my free time at the store anyway, Dad has a laboratory for routine brewing where we experiment sometimes. You’d get to meet her – and I _know_ both she and Dad will want to meet you, too, they’re always far too nosy about my friendships and you’re the first friend whom they didn’t know before I did–”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I have two really good friends, and our parents have been friends since either Hogwarts or the war, way before we were born.”

“But, didn’t you go to school?”

“I did; other kids didn’t like me very much,” he admitted with a shrug, though Hermione thought it had to be something of a sore spot for him. After all, she herself had gone through primary school without any real friends, and she knew how painful that had been. Though... it made her stomach feel warm at the thought that she and Evan shared this one thing between them, and now they’d found each other and become friends.

“So, if they were so involved in politics, how come they now own a store?” she asked him.

“They’re both craft masters who like to experiment, so researching and making stuff is what they trained for before they got involved with the war. This way, they both have a place to do their research and experimentation, and they can also earn money from their crafts; dad was actually already working like that since finishing his mastery. It’s more mail-order than over-the-counter, but they usually keep the store open during the busiest times for walk-in customers.”

“Does it pay well?”

“Eh,” he said with a shrug. “We get by. I think they’d earn more if they were to work full time, but I don’t think either of them likes being a salesperson very much; it’s mostly because they don’t like people to know where we live, because Mum has _fans_ , and Dad gets hate mail sometimes, so it’s just easier to have an official address for that sort of thing.”

“Why would your dad get hate mail?” Hermione asked, intrigued by that seemingly bizarre statement.

“I told you, because of what he did during the war. They keep wiggling out of telling me the whole story, but Dad has a darkish reputation, cause of all his suspect acquaintances and his activity during the war and such. I, er... I overheard Dad talking to G– Dumbledore once, and it sounded like maybe Dad had even been arrested right after by the Ministry, because of his whatever-it-was with You-Know-Who or the his supposed Death Eater friends.” Hermione’s eyes widened in shock, and Evan shook his head. “I don’t know, I’d rather not ask him about it if I don’t have to, and it doesn’t really matter. I know he loves my mum and me more than anything, so I don’t believe he’d ever work for You-Know-Who for real. Also, the whole thing doesn’t mean anything, because almost everyone without a stellar reputation was suspected, since the Ministry was horribly incompetent all through the war, and so they wanted to give the impression of fixing things swiftly after You-Know-Who disappeared.”

“But, this book says that the Ministry answer was thought to be very good,” Hermione pointed out.

“It’s also a book that doesn’t call him by his name,” Evan pointed out with a wry look. “There’s a reason why Mum creating a political party was such a big deal, you realise.”

“I... well, I suppose,” she agreed, thinking it over. Really, there were a lot of things that made little sense in this new world she was now a part of, when she made herself consider them from a normal standpoint. The thought left something of a bad taste in her mouth, because she _liked_ things making sense, and just because magic was involved, it didn’t seem to her that everything should completely lose its logic. “Oh, all right, which book _should_ I read, then? There has to be at least one that tells the full truth without prevarication.”

Evan’s eyebrows rose. “Well, I think you’d be better off just asking people who fought in the war about it. You probably shouldn’t ask my dad, he doesn’t tell even me anything much, but Mum would answer your questions for sure, and she’s always on about keeping in touch with both our wizarding and our Muggle heritage; she’s still got a lot of friends from Mum and Dad’s old town, Cokeworth, that she keeps in touch with. Did you know, she made our house be comfortable for both? Even my snitty aunt comes to visit, and she _hates_ magic.”

“ _Really_? How did she do that?”

Evan launched into an explanation of the difficulty behind combining electricity and magic, which didn’t mix _at all_ , and how there were so many little things that either world took for granted, but which she had had to adjust so that both her wizarding and her Muggle friends felt comfortable coming over. Hermione listened, almost entranced, her mind racing to make the connections and develop new ideas, and through it all, a slow, warm sense of anticipation built, until she was almost desperately looking forward to the moment when her new friend would finally introduce her to her hero, the woman Hermione firmly decided she wanted to be like when she grew up – someone who never sacrificed a part of herself for the whims of others, while still managing to make a huge change to the whole wide world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, ShadeBl made an [amazing drawing](https://shadebl.tumblr.com/image/168647295779) of this chapter (now also in [color](https://78.media.tumblr.com/65bb669b06ea7c4417fa714c2f4ace8e/tumblr_inline_p172pikltU1tt8icm_540.jpg))


	2. September 1987 – A Spot of Fun with Some Sort-Of Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the first pre-Hogwarts one-shot. Regulus in my verse is alive, with a wife and a child, and his relationship with Sirius is markedly better than it was in canon when they were teenagers. Alya, his daughter, is a year younger than Harry, and would be in the same Hogwarts class as Ginny and Luna.

At seven years of age, Harry, like most other wizarding children, didn’t attend a primary school. Instead, Remus tutored him several hours each day in the basics of the English language, maths, social and natural sciences, as well as the basic introduction to magic and its numerous branches. Wizarding children weren’t allowed a wand before starting Hogwarts at age eleven, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be taught not only theory behind transfiguration or potioneering or defence, but also casting techniques. That was Harry’s favourite part of his lessons, really; he hated having to sit at his sums and letters, but he loved watching Remus perform spells for him and learning why it was important to get the pronunciation right and the wand movement just so, cause it meant he’d get to do magic properly as soon as he was allowed a wand.

He was at the desk in the corner of the study room, where Remus and he always had their lessons, resting his head sloppily on his propped up arm and scribbling in his notebook a text about the history lesson he’d had that morning about Vikings and what sorts of magic they’d preferred, and how they’d gone raiding and even came to the British Isles – it was very interesting to listen to Remus talk about it, but not very interesting to write, and Remus always cared more about his spelling than the story and Harry was rubbish at spelling – when he heard the tell-tale sound of the fireplace flaring up in the sitting room right through the door.

It was a good enough cause to abandon the stupid writing and go see who was coming through, Harry decided. He played Auror for a bit and snuck as quietly as he could to the door, pretending that there were burglars and he was going to catch them, but it only turned out to be Uncle Reggie, and he was no burglar, he had an even bigger house than Harry and Sirius lived in, even if it gave Harry a bit of the willies the couple of times he’d gone to it in the last year (he’d only gotten to go there after Sirius’ mum died, because Sirius hadn’t liked his mum at all and always told Harry that she was a nasty person who always yelled, so Harry hadn’t minded). 

But then Harry noticed that it wasn’t _only_ Uncle Reggie; Alya was with him, too.

Alya was Harry’s sort-of cousin. Sirius wasn’t his real father, he was Harry’s godfather, so that meant that Uncle Reggie wasn’t _really_ Harry’s uncle. Except Harry had always called him that, because Sirius was sort of his da, in his head, a bit, so it was okay. And Alya was his daughter, so that made her Harry’s cousin, only not really. Alya was little, only six, and she was small and quiet and Harry thought she might be afraid of him. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but she never wanted to play with Harry very much, so Harry didn’t want to play much with her right back.

Still, between Alya and the spelling, Harry had his priorities straight.

Abandoning his hiding position, Harry ran into the room to hug his uncle around the legs, yelling: “Uncle Reggie!” as he did so.

“Hello, Harry,” Uncle Reggie said, giving him his smiley-eyes. Uncle Reggie didn’t really smile with his mouth, so you had to know what to look for, and Harry did. His eyes were the same as Sirius’, only Sirius smiled with his mouth _and_ his eyes. But it wasn’t hard to notice, if you knew how Sirius smiled, and Harry, of course, did. “How are you, then?”

“Bored!” Harry declared, nodding his head. “I have to write a story about Vikings.”

“You don’t think Vikings are interesting?”

“But it’s _writing_ , Uncle Reg!” he exclaimed, eyes momentarily sticking to a stain on his robes he hadn’t noticed before. “That’s boring, and Remus never cares about my story.”

“I’m sure he does.”

“Well, he cares more about stupid spelling.”

“Spelling is important,” Alya volunteered with her _serious_ face and Harry rolled his eyes at her dramatically, though he made sure to smile, too. She was always saying that these days, ever since she’d learned to read and write, but Harry thoroughly disagreed.

“Hi, Ally Ally Axen Free.”

Alya wrinkled her nose and looked up at Uncle Reggie, who lifted one of his eyebrows at her.

“What does that mean?”

“I dunno; it’s just what I heard on the telly one time,” Harry admitted.

“Harry, it’s polite to ask someone if they mind the nickname before putting it into use,” Remus said, walking into the room and giving Harry a _look_. Harry shrugged and turned to Alya.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” Alya said quietly, then buried her face in her father’s leg. Uncle Reggie rubbed little circles on her back.

“That’s not true, is it, Alya?” Remus asked in that voice he used when Harry was upset, and after a moment, Alya shook her head, just a bit. Harry frowned.

“You must stand up for what you want, Alya,” Uncle Reggie said, pulling her away from his leg a bit. “You are a Black, and Blacks are never afraid of demanding their due. We do not cower and we do not let people put us down, do you understand? Now tell Harry how you really feel.”

Alya looked up at Uncle Reggie with big eyes, and Uncle Reggie looked down at her and he looked like Remus when Harry wanted something and knew he wasn’t going to get it from Moony. Curious, Harry waited to see what Alya would do, and after a moment, she turned to Harry, biting her lip a bit and looking down at his feet.

“Eye contact,” Uncle Reggie reminded her, and Alya looked up to meet Harry’s eyes. She had interesting eyes, really, sort of grey, but with this really blue blue circle around the black. Harry quite liked it when she looked at him, so that he could study them, cause his were just the one colour and that was boring.

“I don’t like that name, Harry. Please don’t use it anymore?” She snuck a look up at her father, then turned back and sort of became a bit bigger, but not really. “Please don’t use it anymore,” she repeated, but this time it sounded like a demand instead of a question. Then she glanced up at Uncle Reggie again, who nodded approvingly.

Harry shrugged, thinking instead that he was going to have to think of something else, because he and Sirius always gave people nicknames, and Alya should have a good one. “But I can still call you Ally, right?” he made sure to check.

“Yes.”

“Okay!” Harry declared brightly, offering her a big smile. It was his first attempt at something different, anyway. He was sure he’d do better next time, he just needed time. “Wanna go play?”

“Harry, did you finish your writing practice?” Remus asked, and Harry’s shoulders drooped.

“But Alya and Uncle Reggie are here! I can’t do it now! I’ll do it later.” He made that face that always made Sirius give in.

“Those eyes may work on your godfather, but they certainly never have on me, and they aren’t about to start now,” Remus said sternly. “Regulus is here to meet up with Sirius, they have more than a bit of business, so Alya will stay the whole afternoon, you’ll have plenty of time to play after you’ve finished.”

“But won’t Alya be bored?”

“No, she has her own assignments to complete,” Uncle Reggie said, handing Alya a blue book bag. “Now, off you go, and you will both finish your tasks before any playing whatsoever. And if Remus informs me differently, I will be very cross with the both of you, is that understood?”

“Yes, Father,” Alya said, but she smiled at her dad, and then followed Harry back to his study room. “May I use the other desk?”

“Sure, that’s Remus’ desk but he won’t mind.”

Then, with an almighty sigh, Harry clambered back into his chair and went back to writing his text, swinging his legs back and forth all the time. It wasn’t running, but it was better than nothing, and it helped him concentrate.

The shuffling and scratching sounds Alya made were a bit annoying at first, but after a while Harry found that it actually helped him focus. Or maybe that was just the promise of more fun things to come.

* * *

 

“Are those Muggle pencils?” Harry asked Alya, leaning over the back of his chair to look at what she was drawing on the desk.

Alya apparently liked to sit all nice, unlike Harry. He thought that must be boring, but Alya was usually a bit boring, always very proper. She had proper robes and dresses, and her hair was always very properly tied, and she always talked very properly, too. It always made him want to make her be more improper.

It was like a little challenge, and Harry always took challenges very Sirius-ly (Remus called that ‘a pun’, but Sirius said that ‘puns were the lowest form of humour and you want to be original, Prongslet, so don’t use them’; Harry still found it funny _and_ it was true, too, so in his head, he liked to use it).

“Yes. My friend Evan gave them to me for my birthday,” Alya explained.

“They look dead useful,” Harry declared, rolling on his chair to lean over to look at the drawing. It was a very good drawing, too. He could tell immediately that it was two house-elves in the picture. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Kreacher and Wilty. They are our house-elves.”

“Oh, Sirius mentions Kreacher sometime; he doesn’t like him very much, though.”

“Kreacher doesn’t like Uncle Sirius, either.”

“We only have Milby. She used to belong to Sirius’ favourite uncle, but then he died, so now she’s ours. I think maybe there are more at the Potter Estate, that was my father’s before he died, but I’ve never been there. Milby goes there all the time, though, and she sometimes mentions someone named Lonny, who takes care of everything.”

Alya looked at him with a frown.

“You don’t know? But you are the only Potter left.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s boring, and Sirius says I don’t have to think about it until I’m all growed up. I asked once, and Sirius said something about people having weddings there now.”

Alya was quiet for a bit, and just when Harry thought she wouldn’t say anything, she responded: “We had more than just Kreacher and Wilty, but only because Grandmother insisted. Father says we don’t need more than two, because I won’t have any brothers or sisters, and a lot of people in the family have died.”

“Did you like your grandmother?” Harry asked, her curious. “Only, Sirius says she was always shouty and nasty.”

Alya looked back at her drawing and rubbed the tip of her finger on a pencil. “Not really. I always had to be very polite to her or else she yelled.”

Leaning closer, Harry lowered his voice, knowing that he wasn’t supposed to know this. “I heard Sirius say one time that she used to hit him, and use spells on him. I asked Remus about it, and he said that if anyone ever tried to do that to me, I should come and tell him _immediately_ , that grown-ups aren’t allowed to do it.”

Alya looked back at him, only not exactly straight at him, but a bit off from the side.

“She used a spell on me once,” she whispered, so quietly Harry had to lean forward to hear her. “It hurt, and I cried, and she yelled at me for it, and then Mummy came in and took me away. And Daddy yelled at her really, really loudly, and after that I wasn’t to be alone with her anymore, even Grandpapa Arcturus agreed and he’s very old-fashioned, Father says.”

“Well, then she was as horrible as Sirius says, and I’m glad she died so you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“Mum fixed up the house. We used to have the heads of old house-elves mounted on the walls, and it was horrible,” Alya confided softly. The thought made Harry wrinkle his nose in disgust. “Dad was upset when she died, but it’s much better now. Do you think it’s bad that I’m glad she’s gone?”

Harry bit at his lip a bit. Alya sounded upset, and he wasn’t sure what to do to make her not be upset anymore. He opted for the truth.

“No. She was horrible to you, so you get to be glad.” He thought about saying something else, and in the end settled for: “You draw really good, way better than I do.”

Alya’s cheeks got all pink, but she smiled, so Harry counted it as a win. He was rubbish at this comforting thing, but he supposed he’d done well enough this time.

“Thank you.”

“Whaddaya wanna do, then? We can go play outside with Snitch.” Snitch being Harry’s golden retriever of four years, whom Harry _adored_ , even though he always had to walk him with Sirius or Remus, or sometimes Andy, when she came to look after him if Sirius and Remus were both so busy that they would be gone for more than one night and he couldn’t stay with just Milby.

“I’d rather not.”

“Why? Is it cause you don’t want to get dirt on your clothes? Cause you can have some of mine, I get mine dirty all the time and it all comes out in the wash, although Remus always says that I have to have special play clothes, they’re Muggle, and they’re never nice like my robes are.”

Alya wrinkled her nose at him.

“I’d really rather not.”

“Oh, come on!” Harry insisted. “You’ll see, Snitch is loads of fun to play with. Oh, I know! I bet we could ask Remus to take us to the park, we can fly brooms there and Snitch can chase us around.” Maybe it was the hair? Alya had _lots_ of hair, and it was really nice, too, black like Harry’s but not so crazy. Sometimes, when she wasn’t paying attention, he liked to tug on it a bit, just to see what it felt like in his fingers. And he also liked to make her stop being so quiet and shy, too, and when he touched her hair, she forgot to be like that.

Grinning to himself, he snapped his hand forward off the back of the chair and tried to rub furiously at the hair on the top of her head, just like Sirius always did to him. Alya squawked in surprise – hilarious sound! – and pulled away, and then Harry felt a bit of a horrible swooping of his stomach and shouted out in surprise himself, and then his whole body jarred and the fingers of his other hand started _really, really_ hurting, in a sharp, stabby pain, and he jerked his hand back, feeling out of breath and the pain made him cry and the lack of breath made him sob.

“ _Harry!_ Daddy! Uncle Siri, Mr Remus! Harry, are you all right? Where does it hurt? Daddy!”

Harry tried to stop himself from sobbing a bit, but it was really hard, and his fingers _hurt_. Hands pulled him up a bit and tried to take his wrist, but he jerked back because it _hurthurthurt_.

“Come on, Prongslet, you have to let me see. Come on, now.”

It was Remus, so Harry did what he was told. He heard an incantation and then there was a rush of _nothing_ instead of pain, and he sobbed a bit more, just out of relief, just because Remus fixed it. Someone pulled on his side and he went, and the embrace felt familiar and comforting, even though it smushed his glasses to his eyelids.

“There you go, Prongslet, shhh, you’re all right now,” Sirius sounded a bit weird with Harry’s ear pressed to his chest, but it was nice, it was always nice, and Sirius even kissed his head, which he only did sometimes, and Harry stopped crying. His hand didn’t hurt anymore.

“Harry is perfectly all right,” Uncle Reggie said, to the side, and Harry blinked the tears out of his eyes to see – not that it was easy, with his glasses all dirty from the tears. Uncle Reggie was hugging Alya, who looked a bit silly, pale and with wide eyes and with her hair all mussed up. “Now, what happened?”

“Harry was messing my hair, and then, and then the chair went woosh and he fell, and, and I think his fingers hit _my_ chair, the metal thing with the wheels, and that’s why they hurt so much.”

“You were leaning the chair over, weren’t you?” Remus asked him with a raised eyebrow. Biting his lip, Harry nodded, letting him wipe the tears off Harry’s cheeks.

“Well, no permanent harm done, and a lesson learned,” Sirius declared, putting his fingers through Harry’s hair like Harry had done with Alya. “Nothing magic can’t fix.”

“It hurt,” Harry informed Sirius. “It hurt lots.”

“Tends to happen when you knock your chair over by leaning on it too much, I’m afraid. You cracked a bone, and pinched a few others,” Remus explained. “We should splinter the fingers for a day or two, just until we’re sure there won’t be any swelling. Then we can all go out for ice cream. Is that all right with you, Regulus?”

“Certainly.”

“Daddy, could we go to the park? Harry wanted to fly on his broom and play with Snitch,” Alya asked her father. Uncle Reggie looked at Harry for a bit and then nodded.

“All right; Remus will have to take you, Sirius and I aren’t done yet. And you’ll need some other clothes, I suppose, there’s bound to be puddles from the rain this morning. I’ll fire-call your mother and have her send your broom through, though as to the clothes...”

“Oh, don’t tell me she doesn’t have a single set of play clothes to get muddy in, Reggie!” Sirius exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “You really should get her some Muggle tights and tees.”

“She can have some of mine,” Harry offered, looking at Alya, and felt immensely better when she gave him a tentative, shy smile. He could have done without the hurt fingers, but in the end, he’d gotten her to agree to his master plan _and_ she didn’t look upset about her mussed hair, either. He was going to enjoy it, he decided as Remus tended to his hand. He was actually going to get Alya to have proper fun with him for once!

* * *

 

“All right, then, you two; I’m going to sit at that bench, and you’ll keep where I can see both of you.”

Harry nodded and settled himself on his broomstick, and beside him, Alya did the same. After Aunt Dahlia had sent her broom over, Remus had given her some of Harry’s play clothes and Uncle Reggie had braided her hair back, and she looked much more interesting this way, Harry thought, because the clothes were a bit big on her and he’d never seen Alya when she wasn’t in some sort of robes, and when her hair was all pulled back her face looked different, too, so he decided that hurt fingers were worth it, because now she was more like Ron’s sister Ginny, except Ginny was weird and Alya wasn’t, and Harry was actually looking forward to flying around with her.

Because Alya was _wicked_ good on a broom. They both had those child brooms, so that they couldn’t fly very fast and very high, and there were sticking charms so they wouldn’t fall easily (Harry hated the sticking magic, because he could never do things he wanted on the broom because of them, but Sirius had promised to get him a grownups broom when he turned nine, which was in two _whole_ years, and Harry was going to _die_ from waiting for it, but Sirius never went back on his word, so he at least knew he’d be getting it eventually), but it was still _fun_ to have someone his age to fly with. Ron’s brothers could fly brooms, but they all thought that Harry was too small, because Ron wasn’t allowed on a broom (just like Ginny wasn’t, either), so they never wanted to fly with him.

So, Harry and Alya settled on their brooms, and when Harry looked over at his cousin, the girl gave him this _look_ and Harry grinned widely, because this was going to be _awesome._ Alya was a Black, and Sirius always said that Blacks didn’t like to lose, so he knew that Alya wasn’t going to be all girl about this at all, which meant that he didn’t have to be all nice to her, either. When Remus was sure they were ready, he unclipped the lead from Snitch’s collar and then they were all tearing away, Harry and Alya racing each other and Snitch letting out a happy bark before he chased after them.

They flew in a straight line until they reached the other side of the clearing where the special wards were so that Muggles couldn’t see them (this park was _the best_ because of them, Harry _loved_ coming here, knew just where all the borders and wards were, and he’d explained it all to Alya while they’d eaten their ice creams and walked to the park with Remus keeping hold of Snitch). Then Harry, who was slightly in the lead, pulled up and around, going as high as his broom would let him before turning to go in a new direction. When he looked to his left, Alya was huddled on her broom, hot in pursuit, keeping to the same height as he did. He pushed the broom to its limit, but Alya still managed to pull up next to him, and then she banked and Harry had to bank to avoid her, so he ended up flying down very low to the grass, and he barely fixed his direction when Snitch jumped towards him. Harry managed to avoid the retriever and, swooping with laughter, circled back to Alya, who was hovering to watch him. She grinned widely at him, looking almost a spitting image of Andy except for the black hair (Andy was Sirius’ cousin who looked after Harry sometimes and whose daughter could change her face and hair and _everything_ just like that), and sped up, this time the one in the lead while Harry chased after her.

They made a wide circle around the clearing, waved at Remus who was sitting on a bench, and then Harry pushed his broom to the limit of its speed, caught up with the end of Alya’s, and tugged as hard as he could on the bristles. Alya wobbled, exclaiming in surprise, and pulled sharply up at a right angle to the ground, smacking Harry with the bristles lightly on the back. Harry lost his balance and this time failed to avoid Snitch, who barrelled into him so that they both toppled onto the ground and rolled in the grass, landing with Harry on his back and Snitch wildly licking his face.

Laughing as he pushed his dog away, Harry sat up, just in time to see Alya land and dismount, looking a bit worried.

“You didn’t hurt yourself?” she asked hesitantly.

“Nah, it was fun!” Harry almost shouted, tugging his sleeve to wipe all the gooey drool Snitch had slobbered onto his face and not worried at all about the green patches and wet mud on his clothes. “But Snitch needs a break, he’s panting, see? That means we should give him some water.” He picked up his broom and the three of them started walking back to Remus’ bench. “We’ll let him rest a bit, and instead chase my dad’s Snitch. The ball, I mean. It usually likes to fly near my head, but Remus can put a charm on it to make it go away. Sirius says I’ll be a great Seeker!”

“My father was a Seeker,” Alya offered with a small, shy smile. She looked nice, too, much better than normal, because her cheeks were all ruddy from flying around and her hair was sort of wind-blown, so she didn’t look as pale as she usually did. Harry was liking this Alya _much_ better than how she usually was, and decided that he was gonna have to find a way to make her come flying with him again, because he’d _finally_ found something she liked to do with him, and Ron was a great playmate (and Neville wasn’t too bad, either, since he came to live with Harry and Sirius for a while long, _long_ ago when they were four, though he was usually pretty boring and too clumsy to do stuff like play Aurors and go flying), but sometimes Harry wished he had more than just Ron to play with – even if it _was_ a girl. “Maybe I will be as well, and then we will meet on the Quidditch field.”

“Well, I’ll be Gryffindor and you’ll be Slytherin, of course, so we can’t be together on the team. But that’s good, or else we couldn’t do it.”

“Perhaps I will try for another position,” Alya suggested. “I’d like to be a Chaser.”

“Oh, oh! We have a Quaffle at home, too! You know what we should do? We should get Uncle Reggie and Sirius to be goalies, and we’ll play two-on-two up in our attic, wouldn’t that be fun?”

“What would be fun?” Remus asked. He already had Snitch’s water bowl set up on the ground, and the retriever went to lap at it noisily.

“If me an’ Sirius played against Ally and Uncle Reggie.”

Remus smirked. “Yes, that would be something to see. Your father was an excellent Seeker, did you know, Alya? I remember, one match between Slytherin and Gryffindor in our, hm, must have been sixth or seventh year, there was the flu going all around, and half of the Slytherin team was in bed with it. Gryffindor scored nineteen hoops to Slytherin’s one by the first Snitch sighting, half of them were James’, and after that, your father spotted the Snitch three more times, and every time he kept our Seeker away from it, until his team managed to bring the score down to hundred-fifty points difference, and only then did he catch the Snitch, all while neck-and-neck with our Seeker, to finish the game to a tie. James was furious, of course, but it was an amazing game to watch, and your father was just that good, that he was confident he’d be able to catch the Snitch right when he teem needed him to.”

“How come he didn’t wait for one more hoop, then they would have won?” Harry asked, leaning on her broom a bit in interest.

“Oh, if he had, they’d have lost for sure. Even that one hoop that tied the game was more of a fluke, really; our Keeper wobbled on the broom some and, well, he didn’t exactly drop the Quaffle into the hoop because he never had a good grip on it in the first place, but it was almost like that. There was simply no way for them to have been able to score one more before James pulled the advantage to our side. Regulus saw Slytherin’s one chance and he took it – and that year we had a very good Seeker, too.”

“Was Uncle Siri also on the team?” Alya asked, and Remus shook his head with a wry smile.

“No, Sirius didn’t have much of an interest for it. He tried out and was reserve for one year, but he found the rigorous training schedule to be too limiting for him, so he quit. He preferred to be loud and disruptive in the stands instead.”

“Will he do that when I play, too?” Harry asked, grinning, because it was a funny thought. Sirius was usually pretty funny, when he wasn’t in one of his gloomy moods (Harry hated those times, because they frightened him – they always made him think of his mum and dad, and what he’d do if Sirius died, too, and he didn’t like to think about that very much, it made him want to cry).

“I dare say he will. What’ll be interesting will be to see what he does when it’s Gryffindor versus Slytherin and the both of you are playing,” Remus answered, still smiling.

“He will cheer for Harry, of course,” Alya said, as if that was how it would be, _of course_. Harry frowned.

“He’ll cheer for you too, Ally,” he told her loyally, because it was true. “You’re ‘our Black Princess’,” (he imitated Sirius’ very important voice to the best of his abilities, the one he found secretly funny) “so he has to.”

“But you’re more important to him,” the girl pointed out. “It’s all right, Harry. Daddy will cheer for me, and Uncle Sirius will cheer for you, and when we play against each other, they can sit together in the stands and then it’ll be like they’re both cheering for the both of us.”

Harry conceded that this would be acceptable.

They played Seeker for a while, though they had to wear gloves or else the Snitch would have just flown around their heads, and in the end Harry won their game by three catches. But Alya didn’t get upset about it, and then when Remus made glowing circles in the air and they raced through them, Alya won two times more than Harry did, so Harry decided it was fair that he wouldn’t be upset, either. Snitch the Retriever ran around a bit more, and they threw a stick for him to bring to them, and Remus only insisted they went home when it started to get dark.

Sirius and Uncle Reggie were sitting in the living room and talking when they all came in, and Harry actually got to race Alya to tell then what all they’d done, which was pretty fun, because Harry loved it when it was loud and confusing and the best thing of all was that Alya wasn’t being all shy. She still didn’t argue with him when he made up some things to tell her dad and his, and she was much quieter and sort of not all hand-wavy like Harry, but that was all right, because she was talking and smiling and therefore Harry knew she’d had fun too, which was the _most_ important thing when playing with someone else, Remus always said so.

“So, you had more fun than usual with Alya this time around?” Sirius asked when Uncle Reggie and Alya and Remus all left so that they could have dinner.

“Uh-huh.”

“See, I told you, kiddo; our Black Princess isn’t so bad at all, is she?”

Harry thought a moment before nodding. “She’s wicked good on the broom.”

That was certainly the highest of praise in his book. Yeah, Harry decided, thinking a bit more. Alya was definitely okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who may not know, Walburga (Sirius and Regulus' mother) died in 1985 according to Word-of-God, which I'm taking as given in this case, and additionally, Sirius and Regulus' paternal grandfather Arcturus(-bought-Order-of-Merlin-First-Class-)Black III lived until 1992. Given that he would have _de iure_ been the Head of the family even before Sirius' father (Orion was actually the _de facto_ Head), he would have lived at Grimmauld Place. Therefore, both Arcturus and Walburga would have continued to live there from the end of the FWW to their deaths even after Regulus brought in a wife and daughter and took over the Head position from his late father.


	3. July 1991 – The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references the events depicted in Chapter 2 of The Lion, The Snake and The Stone, specifically falling chronologically between Evan's and Harry's sections, and is precipitated by Evan's meddling.

_Friday, 26 th of July 1991_

_To Ginevra Weasley,_

_Hello. I hope I am not crossing any boundaries by penning this letter to you; I only wished to express my enjoyment at meeting you at Evan’s birthday party, and, if you are amenable, I am not against furthering our acquaintance._

_Evan has informed me that you have an interest in Quidditch? Would this be a suitable conversation topic?_

_Respectfully,  
_ _Alya Cassiopeia Black_

* * *

 

_26.7.1991_

_To Alya,_

_Hi. Of course you’re not crossing any boundaries by writing to me. I’d quite enjoyed meeting you, too, even if we didn’t talk all that much that day, so if you want to be friends, I’d like that, too. Only, I hope it won’t bother your mum and dad, since I’m a Weasley, and you’re a Black. I know my mum and dad weren’t all that happy when I’d mentioned you before. But I don’t really care, if you don’t._

_You like Quidditch, too? Which is your favourite team? My favourite are the Holyhead Harpies, they’re bloody awesome. My brother Ron likes the Chudley Cannons, I have no idea why, but his room is all orange and he has their poster hung up and everything. They’re just horrible, in my opinion. Do you play? Mum and Dad won’t let me fly a broom yet, so when my brothers play pick-up Quidditch, I have to stay on the ground and keep score._  _It’s horrible. I don’t know if you know, but I have six older brothers._

_Errol is really old, so if you could just let him rest a little before sending him back, I’d be real grateful._

_Hope to hear from you soon,  
_ _Ginny Molly Weasley_

_P.S. Please, don’t ever call me ‘Ginevra’. I hate that name._

* * *

 

_Saturday, 27 th of July 1991_

_Dear Ginny,_

_I hadn’t hoped to hear from you so soon, so your letter was a pleasant surprise. Your poor owl looks as old as Snapes’ Radagast, and I took very good care of him while he was here. I hope you do not mind if I had him stay over for the day while I penned this letter to you._

_My favourite Quidditch team are the Wimbourne Wasps, though my father prefers the Falmouth Falcons. My mother always says that it is because they are as adroit as Blacks, though I am not quite certain that this is a proper analogy. The Falcons often receive penalties, and I do not believe them to understand that playing the rules is far more effective than playing against them._

_I have had flying lessons since I was four years old, as my father was the Slytherin Seeker during his Hogwarts years, and his wish is for me to also take a position on the team. Is this also your interest? In that case, we might be meeting on the opposite sides of the playing field (should we not end up in the same House, of course, though I would like to be on a team with you, as well). I should warn you that I, as a Black, have been taught never to sacrifice my goals, even to friends._

_The Holyhead Harpies are a well-skilled team, in my opinion, and I admire them for being the only all-woman team in the League. The Chudley Cannons, on the other hand, I do not have a high opinion on, as they have consistently failed to achieve any significant results. I believe this to be due to bad management and attachment to weak players._

_My cousin Draco prefers the Tutshill Tornadoes, and they appear to be making head this year as they did last; do you believe it possible that they could win the Cup again? I do not have any siblings, and the only close cousins my age are Draco and Harry, though Harry isn’t truly my cousin; my uncle Sirius is raising him, as his father was Uncle’s best friend. I have some more cousins on my mother’s side of the family, but I am not close with them. Would you tell me something about your brothers? What is it like to have such a large family?_

_Do you have any interest in offensive spells? Mother has promised to teach me the Bat-Bogey Hex as soon as I am allowed a wand. It sounds quite entertaining._

_I will await your response._

_Sincerely,  
_ _Alya Black_

* * *

 

_28.7.1991_

_Dear Alya,_

_Thank you so much for taking care of Errol; Mum was worried about him flying so often, but he seems not to mind, which is a little strange for him. I suppose he likes it at your place._

_I had to look up what ‘adroit’ meant, so Mum figured out that I was writing to you. She’s not very happy, but Dad says it’s nice that I have a friend all of my own, so she’s letting me write back whenever I want, so long as you look after Errol as well as you did the last time. The only other girl that I know is Luna, she lives close by, but she’s a little strange. I think her mum works with Evan’s mum sometimes._

_We at home think that whoever favours the Tornadoes is just a phony, because they are slotted for winning again this year, and probably the next. Most of the people who like them only like them because of it. I don’t mind the Wasps, they are a descent team, and their buzzing to annoy their opponents is bloody brilliant, though my brother Percy thinks it’s cheating. He’s uptight like that, though he sure doesn’t mind when it’s his_ _favourite team cheating to win a game. He likes the Pride of Portree, like my dad, because they’re the first team he ever got to see play, and on their home island, too. The Falcons like to fight too much, and my brother Charlie says they’re just like the Slytherin Team at Hogwarts. Charlie used to be a Seeker, and the Quidditch Captain of the Gryffindor Team for two years. He’s finished school this year, though, and has applied to work with dragons. I wish he was younger, so that I could get onto the Gryffindor Quidditch Team in my second year like Fred and George did. Don’t tell anyone, but I can pick the lock on our shed, so when I want to go flying, I steal one of our brooms while my mum’s busy in the house. Evan’s the only one who knows this, because my brothers would either tell Mum or stop me from doing it._

_Do you think you’ll be in Slytherin? My whole family’s been in Gryffindor for generations, and I’m definitely going to there too, or else Fred and George will never leave me be. They’re my twin brothers, you see, and they always tease me and pull pranks on me. They’re the first people I’m using the Bat-Bogey Hex on. And if you learn it before I get to, you have to teach me, yeah? That’s my favourite spell, too. Would you want to be in Slytherin? I ( ~~wouldn)~~ think the only person I know who wants to be is Evan._

_You want to know about my brothers. Well, there’s six of them: Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George, and Ron. Bill works as a curse-breaker, and he’s in Egypt right now. He’s my favourite brother. Charlie is obsessed with dragons, and he’s applied to go to Romania to a dragon reserve there. The internship is super expensive, but he’s got very good references from his professors, so he thinks he can get a scholarship, and if he makes it, then he’ll be paid really well, because it’s a dangerous job. Percy is going to be a fifth-year now, and he’ll be a Prefect. He’s like Mum, likes all these rules and thinks he knows best and yells at us if we do something he doesn’t approve of, like he’s our dad or something. Fred and George are thirteen, and they’re the most fun. They know all these crude words and they make these awesome knick-knacks to pull pranks on people. They work at Evan’s parents’ shop during the summer. They’re identical, so most people can’t tell them apart. Dad gets them mixed up all the time, and Mum too, though I’m not sure if she does it because they like to mess about or because she really can’t tell them apart. I can, most of the time, though sometimes it’s hard, especially when they start talking in tandem. Then they make my head hurt. Ron’s only a year older than I am, and he’s best friends with Harry Potter. Is that your not-cousin? Harry lives with Sirius Black, so I assume so. Isn’t he great? Handsome and funny and smart and he flies like he was born on a broom._

_I didn’t know you were related to Draco Malfoy. At least, that’s the only Draco I’ve heard of, but the name’s so ridiculous I don’t think anyone else has it. My dad really doesn’t like his dad. He says Malfoys are conceited and bigoted. Is that true?_

_Are you coming to Harry’s birthday party next week? Mum’s making him a chocolate cake, and Fred, George, Ron and I will be there. It’d be great to speak to you in person again._

_Ginny_

_P.S. You don’t have to sound so formal, you know, even though it’s a little funny._

* * *

 

_Sunday, 28 th of July 1991_

_Dear Ginny,_

_I really don’t mind looking after Errol, he’s a sweet old thing. And I suppose I do sound formal; as I am currently the Black heir, I have been taught to always write formally, though I guess I don’t have to be so careful when I’m writing to you, so I’ll try to make it sound more casual._

_My mum found out that it was you I was writing to, and Dad’s not very happy, because he does business with a lot of people who don’t think much of your family, so it’s a little impractical. I don’t think he minds personally. Mum doesn’t, in any case. She says that I have very few friends, and that she’s glad I know a girl my own age. I know some others, of course; mum’s second cousin has two daughters, Daphne and Astoria, but I’ve only ever seen them at Christmas parties and such, and we’re not close._

_Draco is a Malfoy, and his name is not ridiculous. Well, maybe a little. But it’s a Black family tradition that children get names after stars and constellations, and his mum, my aunt Narcissa, was a Black. She’s not technically my aunt, because she and my dad are only cousins, but that’s what I’ve always called her. Draco’s name is that of a constellation, and Aunt Narcissa chose it because her name doesn’t follow tradition. Draco likes it, in any case. When he was younger, he used to be obsessed with dragons because of it, and he still has a large collection of dragon figurines in his room. But don’t tell that to anyone. He likes to pretend that he’s really important and mature now he’s old enough to go to Hogwarts. My first name is that of the primary star in a star system of the constellation Serpens, and my second name is that of a constellation named after a queen in Greek mythology, who was the mother of Andromeda and who was forced to sacrifice her daughter to a sea monster to appease the sea god Poseidon. The daughter was saved by Perseus, who became her husband. Andromeda is also the name of my other aunt, Aunt Narcissa’s older sister, who was disowned by my grandmother for marrying a Muggle-born, though my father’s always liked her best of all our family. I think her daughter Nymphadora was in your brother Charlie’s year, because she’s just finished Hogwarts and has been accepted into Auror training. Uncle Siri is close with Aunt Dromeda, so I think you’ll get to meet Dora at Harry’s birthday party, which I will also attend. Does your mum do all the cooking? I’ve never made a cake before. Will you be helping her?_

_Harry is all right, though I don’t believe he likes me that much. He’s a lot like Uncle Siri, which annoys my dad a little, I think, but he’s never been rude to me on purpose. He just doesn’t think girls are that interesting. Draco isn’t bad, either, but both boys are sometimes a little hurtful. I think it’s just because they don’t have any siblings, so they don’t know to take care. Mum says that only children can be spoiled, because their parents pay them too much attention, but my dad says that bad parents are just bad parents, no matter how many children they have. I wish I had a sibling. You’re so lucky to have so many brothers. I look forward to meeting Fred and George, they sound interesting. Do you ever wish you had a sister?_

_I won’t tell anyone about your flying, and I hope you get onto the Quidditch Team. My whole family’s been in Slytherin for generations, too, on both sides. Except for Dora, who was a Hufflepuff, and Uncle Siri, of course, who was a Gryffindor. Dad says that Slytherin is the best house, because you learn there how to be cunning and how to get out of tricky situations. He thinks Gryffindors don’t use their heads very much, and he’s always on about Uncle Siri being a Gryffindor about this and that. I like Sirius, though; he always invites me when he and Harry go to Muggle London, and I don’t mind that he’s so very loud. I don’t care if you’re a Gryffindor and I’m a Slytherin, we can still be friends. Evan always says that it’s good to have friends from all niches. Would you_ _mind? Draco’s always on about how Gryffindors hate Slytherins, because there were so many dark wizards who used to be Slytherins. I think it’s just silly. Of course, Draco doesn’t think well of anyone who isn’t a Slytherin, but that’s just what his father told him to think. I’m sure he’ll see that he’s wrong when he gets there. Do you think your parents will mind if you aren’t in Gryffindor?_

_Maybe we can learn the Bat-Bogey Hex together? I’m sure Mother wouldn’t mind showing it to you, too. If your parents don’t mind, of course. Mum is really good in offensive spells. She and Dad sometimes duel just because they think it fun, and they promised me that I can participate when I finish my first year._

_Have you bought Harry a present yet? I’m to go with Mum to Diagon Alley to pick it out the day after tomorrow, though I wanted to get him something Muggle. He’s been talking about something called a walkie-talkie, so I thought perhaps that._

_How did you get your name? I don’t think I know anyone named Ginevra. I like it, though._

_Sincerely,  
_ _Alya_

* * *

 

_29.7.1991_

_Dear Alya,_

_I didn’t know about the names in your family. That is so interesting. Although, Nymphadora? That’s a strange name. Is your aunt Andromeda still disowned? Dad told me that your grandmother died six years ago, and that your father is now the head of your family, even though Sirius is older, because Sirius was also disowned. Your family likes to disown people, don’t they? I don’t think we’ve ever disowned anyone, either the Weasley or the Prewett side, though we do have a Squib second cousin who’s an accountant, and we don’t really talk about him. I’ve never even met him. _

_I like your name, too. Cassiopeia sounds very queenly, and Alya suits your looks. I don’t think I look like a Ginevra, do you? Ginny, though, that’s much better. At least I’m not Virginia; then Mum would have expected me to be all girly and virginal (my brother Percy likes using that word a lot). Mum said that she named me Ginevra for King Arthur’s wife Guinevere. I wish she’d named me Viviane, if she really wanted a name connected to him, since Morgan would have been on-the-nose. And most of us get our second names after family members. My mum’s name is Molly, and so is my middle name. Bill’s middle name is Arthur, after Dad. Percy’s middle name is Ignatius, that’s Mum’s uncle. Also, Percy was supposed to be called Percival, and that’s one of King Arthur’s knights, but Aunt Muriel said it sounded ‘pretentious’ (yet Ginevra was acceptable. I am rolling my eyes very hard right now). Fred and George got their names because Mum had twin younger brothers, Fabian and Gideon, who died in the War, and so she chose the initials for them. I think she would have named them after my uncles, except she always says that they were very full of themselves, so I think she didn’t want to inflate their heads by having their twin nephews carrying their names. They died near the end of the war, and don’t tell anyone, but I think Mum wishes that she had named the twins Fabian and Gideon. And Ronald, his middle name is Bilius, after Dad’s brother, who’s a little loopy, but the twins like him a lot. _

_Do you have any other strange names in your family? I had Dad find me a book on Greek myths, just to read about Cassiopeia and Andromeda, and it’s a very interesting story, though I think I would have tried to save myself, instead of waiting for Perseus to ride in on flying shoes. I liked the pictures of him on a Pegasus much more, like a proper prince in shining armour. Also, no offence, but Cassiopeia doesn’t seem like a very good queen, when she went and angered Poseidon, so that she had to sacrifice her daughter to save the kingdom._

_I think Mum expects me to be in Gryffindor. Ron and I asked her yesterday if she would be angry if we weren’t, and she said she wouldn’t, but I think she would still prefer us as Gryffindors. She really dislikes Slytherins, too, though she’s always nice to Evan’s dad when they come over. Dad just dislikes Pure-blood bigots who promote Muggle hatred. Why would you hate Muggles? I mean, they don’t have magic, but it’s not like they even know about us. I feel sad for them, mostly, because they don’t get to go to Hogwarts and have wands and learn all the cool spells._

_You’re nice, so I think I would still want to be friends with you, even if you are a Slytherin. Evan says that his mum told him that it doesn’t even really matter that much. I think Luna will be a Ravenclaw. I don’t know if you’d like her, she tends to stop listening to what you’re saying if you’re boring her, and she believes all this weird stuff I’ve never even heard of. Her dad owns the_ Quibbler _, and her mum invents all these charms that aren’t even all that useful._

_We all got Harry one present together, a Quidditch cloak for the cold weather. Actually, Mum bought the material and then made it, because the really good ones are very expensive. Did you get him that Muggle thing he wanted? What is it, even? Dad doesn’t know, but he said he’d ask Evan’s mum. He works with her sometimes, because he’s in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, and she often works with Muggle objects. He’s going to this seminar at Cambridge University next month, about the current Muggle technology, and he’s super excited about it. Did you know, our whole garage is filled with his knick-knacks, and he tries to charm them all the time? Evan’s mum always ends up having to check his work, though, and she doesn’t seem to mind explaining all the various Muggle things to him until he figures out how they work. My dad’s obsessed with Muggles and Muggle things. Maybe that’s why Mr Malfoy doesn’t like him? I think he mentioned something like that once._

_I don’t really like helping Mum in the kitchen, but if you want, I can ask her and maybe you could come over and we can bake with her sometime? She’s a wicked cook, and she doesn’t mind teaching me when I want to know something. We can ask her at Harry’s birthday party._

_Oh, I’m so nervous about it. Ron always drags Harry away when he comes over, so I never get to talk to him, but even when I do get the chance, I never know what to say. He’s just amazing, and I get so nervous that my tongue gets all twisted up in my mouth, and all I do is squeak, which is so embarrassing. I really wish I could say something smart, so that he’d notice me._

_I guess I’ll see you in three days, then._

_Your friend,  
_ _Ginny_

* * *

 

_Tuesday, 30th of July, 1991_

_Dear Ginny,_

_Just a short letter this time, as we’ll be seeing each other tomorrow, but I didn’t think this was an appropriate topic at a birthday celebration._

_You asked me about my family’s customs. For names, if you want, I have a book on our genealogy, and our big family tapestry, of course, so I can show them to you when you come over one time and tell you all about it. Dad’s not very enthusiastic about us being friends, but Mum said she’d work on him about it.  I would love to learn how to bake a cake, then Kreacher and I could make one for Mum’s birthday. Kreacher is one of our two house-elves, and sort of my nurse. He’s a worry-wart, though much better since Grandmother died. Grandmother Walburga lived with us when I was little and she used to yell at me sometimes. Dad argued with her a lot, especially about Uncle Sirius. And she really did like to disown people. She disowned her own brother for leaving Uncle Siri his money and house after he died, too. Dad fixed it for Uncle Sirius, but he says that he can’t fix it for Aunt Andromeda yet, because ‘politics’, and Great Uncle Alphard is dead, so I don’t think he cares much. That’s what Dad always says. I hope he doesn’t want me to go into politics, I think I would hate it. But that’s how my family works, and Dad says it’s important to keep to it because, again, politics. It sort of always falls back to it, I think. Why don’t you speak to your Squib cousin? I thought your family didn’t care about the prejudice and bigotry and all that stuff? I’m sure he could be a great asset to your family. Dad says good accountants are hard to find. I don’t think it’s nice to be sad that some people don’t have magic, because then it turns to pity, and no one likes to be pitied. They seem to be making do without, in any case. Your dad likes all the Muggle stuff, you wrote, so he should know, shouldn’t he? They may not get to go to Hogwarts, but Evan told me Muggles went to the Moon, and I’m sure no wizard would ever be able to figure out how to do that with magic, it’s just so very far, and no one even knows if magic would work in space._

_I’ve just looked at our family tapestry – we have this enormous wall tapestry with the Black family tree on it, and Grandmother Walburga liked to burn faces off of it when she disowned people – and did you know, one of the disowned people is Cedrella Black, who apparently married into your family; father told me that she was disowned because my great-great-grandfather, Sirius Black II, declared that Septimus Weasley was a Blood Traitor. Perhaps you should ask your father about them._

_Oh, and Nymphadora isn’t actually a name of a celestial object, but it sort of fits in with all the other strange names we have in our family. Don’t call her that, though; she hates her name. We in the family call her Dora, and everyone else but her mother calls her Tonks, which is her last name._

_I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow,_

_Your friend,  
_ _Alya_


	4. July 1992 – The Bonds in Adversity, and of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter depicts an event referenced in Chapter 22 of The Lion, The Snake and The Stone, and also provides a bit of a resolution to the first half of it.

Harry, if asked at the beginning of his first year at Hogwarts, would have said that the strongest and worthiest of bonds only existed between long-time friends, and that the adventures one got up to during childhood were the best basis for trust and comradeship.

He was, therefore, finding himself just a bit surprised, after his encounter with the Dark-Lord-sticking-out-the-back-of-his-head Defence Professor in the bowels of the ancient castle, fighting over the blood-red Philosopher’s Stone, to note that this also applied to people you disliked, or even called your enemies.

Oh, not that he had stopped thinking of Evan Snape as either an enemy, or dislikeable, in the least. But the fact still was that they had shared a very harrowing experience together, working in surprisingly efficient tandem and even saving each other a couple of times, and the weird sort of understanding that was now springing up between them in the oddest of moments was no doubt the consequence of this misadventure.

Even if it _was_ utterly discombobulating.

The afternoon after Harry woke up properly from the sleep induced by magical exhaustion, he and Snape were never left completely alone. Sirius had to leave soon after Uncle Regulus and Snape Senior had departed, but Remus came in his stead in the afternoon, and Mrs Snape seemed as content to stay in the hospital wing as both Harry’s and Snape’s friends were. Surprisingly enough, Madam Pomfrey didn’t appear to be very upset with how many visitors the two boys had; Harry assumed it was because they were currently the only ones in the whole hospital wing, or that maybe Mrs Snape had convinced her to allow it.

Mrs Snape was pretty awesome in that way.

Lovely though it was, though, playing cards with his mates and listening to stories about his and Snape’s parents’ own Hogwarts adventures (new ones at that, because it turned out that Remus and Mrs Snape had had quite a few of their own, completely separate from either the Senior Marauders or Mr Snape), the busy afternoon never allowed Harry and Evan the time to figure out how they would now be acting towards one another, so all Harry was left with were the strange knowing looks and smirks they exchanged aside from their guardians’ bodies, and a whole host of confusion, because he was finding that he still didn’t like Evan Snape in the _least_ , but at the same time, he couldn’t really forget how Snape had tackled Quirrelmort in order to stop him from forcing Harry to tell him where the Stone was and then no doubt killing him. Or, as it was turning out that afternoon, to deny that their lives were perhaps a bit more entangled than either of them liked to admit, seeing how their parents and guardians had all gone to school together, and two had come out of it the best of friends, while the other two to this day still couldn’t stand one another.

Apparently, their parents were, in some ways, surprisingly similar in actions to one another. Not a thought Harry found likeable for entertainment.

Be that as it may, by the time everyone had left the hospital wing and Harry and Snape were alone, they were both so exhausted that they nodded off straight after dinner, and didn’t even end up exchanging one barbed word between them, let alone any sort of real conversation or acknowledgement of what had transpired in the last few days.

* * *

 

Harry dreamt.

He dreamt of his mother in the Mirror, holding the blood-red Stone in her hands and extending it to him as an offering, while he himself held Voldemort’s face in his hands, feeling it smoke and blister under his fingertips, and the man was screaming in a high-pitched, fluctuating way that made Harry’s heart race and his breathing catch in his throat.

He woke up with such a start that he was almost half-way out of his bed by the time he realised it had been a nightmare, though that was made harder by the fact that the screaming, moaning sounds had not gone away with the images behind his eyelids. It took him perhaps a bit too long to realise that the sound hadn’t been from the nightmare itself, but from the other bed.

Harry’s first, wild thought was that Voldemort had come back to finish the job, and he groped for both his glasses and his wand on the nightstand, clumsy in his grogginess and with his sleep-addled brain refusing to come up with any sort of offensive spell, and he was just about to stuff his glasses onto his nose when a sharp, female voice broke through his rising panic.

“Mr Potter, back to bed; everything is all right!”

Madam Pomfrey. Suddenly, some of the torches on the walls lit up, enough that Harry could see she was right – there was, in fact, no attack of any kind happening, though Harry couldn’t fully trust that when Snape was cowering against the headboard, with his arms extended protectively over his head, kicking out against his bed covers, and still screaming in shrill tones that got broken up by laboured breaths.

“What’s going on? Why is he screaming?” Harry asked the witch striding up to them in her nightclothes and wrapped in a housecoat, teetering between doing as he’d been told and climbing into his own bed, or approaching the terrified Slytherin.

“It’s a night terror, nothing we can do; it’ll pass on its own if he doesn’t wake up.”

Night terror? Was that like a nightmare? But Harry himself had never done _this_ , not that he could ever remember.

“But... can’t _we_ wake him up?”

Madam Pomfrey shook her head.

“No. Engaging him could make it worse,” she explained, and with a flick of her wand, the sound dampened, though it didn’t stop completely, and it did absolutely nothing to stop Snape from his terrifying behaviour.

“I don’t... Madam Pomfrey, I don’t understand. What’s night terrors? Is he... is he in pain or something?”

The other boy suddenly jerked, kicking the air with his feet, and tumbled off the bed, his scream tapering off into a whimpering sob. Then he flipped on his side and looked directly at Harry and Madam Pomfrey – and continued screaming.

Harry cried out in fright and buried his head in Madam Pomfrey’s side, feeling panicky and insecure, his hands suddenly tingling uncomfortably, feeling like they were being licked by flames and blistering skin. The old matron rubbed his back and shushed him.

“It’s all right, child. There is nothing for you to be frightened of.”

“Can’t we help him? Or make him stop?” he asked when her vigorous rubbing finally started properly chasing away the remnants of his nightmare and being scared into wakefulness. By then, Snape had pulled himself up to sit with his back against the stone wall, and his voice appeared to be tiring out, though only in little bursts. Swallowing, Harry peered at the dark-haired Slytherin, his curiosity slowly overtaking his fright. Now that he was getting past the terrifying part of it, the whole thing seemed a bit silly, in a macabre sort of way.

“Using magic isn’t recommended for this. Stay on your bed now, Mr Potter,” she instructed, letting him go to crouch by Snape. “Calm now, Evan, it’s all right. Everything’s all right.” It took another minute or two, but Snape did appear to be calming down, and when she apparently deemed it safe enough, Madam Pomfrey took the gangly boy by his elbow and hand, and pulled him up. He blinked up at her and whimpered, but followed docilely enough as she led him back into his bed. “There, now, back to bed with you, young man.” Whining, Snape curled up on his side, and to Harry’s absolute shock, by the time Madam Pomfrey had reset his covers, he was fast asleep, as if nothing whatsoever had happened.

“That’s it?” Harry found himself asking in absolute bewilderment.

“That’s it. He won’t remember it in the morning. He had a couple last night as well, though I imagine you wouldn’t know. No doubt it’s been triggered by your foolish misadventures. Fighting You-Know-Who, really. Foolish, reckless children, you two are, as bad as each other.”

“Does he do this often?”

“From what his mother told me, it depends on his stress levels,” Madam Pomfrey explained, putting things back to rights. “Can you go back to sleep, Mr Potter, or would you like something to help you sleep?”

“I... I guess that’s ok,” Harry agreed, watching as she transfigured his bed into a narrow four-poster bed one, with sheer white drapes that she closed one after another. “What are you doing?”

“He is likely to have at least another one before morning, and unless you wish to be woken up again, I will be putting up silencing wards on your bed. Expect it to be dismantled by the time you rouse in the morning,” she informed him, sending a small vial flying into his open hands. “That is a Dreamless Sleep, Mr Potter; do not think I didn’t catch you also having some nightmares of your own.”

Cheeks heating up in embarrassment, Harry chugged down the potion and settled down into a comfortable position.

“Can’t you give him this, too?”

“It wouldn’t work; night terrors aren’t the same thing as nightmares. Mr Snape will be perfectly fine, Mr Potter; this is something he’s been contending with for most of his life. It is usually much scarier for us who have to witness it than for those who suffer from it, I assure you.”

“Ok,” Harry agreed, still feeling a bit dubious, but suddenly too tired and sleepy to consider it further. The Dreamless Sleep was already starting to work. Yawning, he settled a bit further in the bed, and forgot all about his own nightmares and the other boy’s night terrors.

* * *

 

At least, Harry forgot the nightmares and night terrors until the morning, when he remembered and then couldn’t quite decide what to do about this information. This, of course led to him giving Snape sneaky looks, as he tried to figure out if Madam Pomfrey was right when she said the greasy-haired boy wouldn’t remember them.

“What?!” Snape exclaimed finally after they finished breakfast. “Why are you looking at me like that, Potter? What?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

Snape peered at him, then seemingly dismissed it, which made Harry want to pick at it like a healing scab.

“It’s just... did you have any nightmares about Quirrellmort?”

“N– wait, why are you asking me _that_? Did _you_ have any?”

“No, of course not.” He wasn’t going to admit to _that_ to Evan Snape of all people.

“So why are you asking m– oh, God.” The boy’s eyes widened and he paled. “Oh, Merlin. You saw it, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t see anything,” Harry said hurriedly.

“You did. I had a night terror, didn’t I?”

“No. Well, maybe. Sort of. Madam Pomfrey said that was it. You were kicking and screaming and you fell off the bed.”

“I did? I don’t hurt anywhere.”

“You dragged your pillow down with you. Do you _really_ not remember anything?”

Snape shook his head. “No. Sometimes I do, if I wake up from them, but the last time I did was months ago.” A guarded look overtook him, and he glared at Harry. “You better not be thinking of telling any of it to you _mates_ , Potter, or I–”

“Or you what?” Harry pounced on that, clenching his fists as he remembered how the other boy had put Seamus in the hospital wing with a broken leg and missing teeth.

“You’ll regret it,” Snape promised, looking like he remembered that same instance as well.

“I bet not nearly as much as you’ll wish I’d never seen it,” Harry promised in return, even though until this very moment he’d not had the intention of ever mentioning the other boy’s affliction to anyone.

Something strange flashed over Snape’s face, there and gone again, looking nothing so much as one of those expressions Harry had seen on Ron’s face when the twins were being particularly cruel in their teasing of him, and in the next moment, the greasy-haired boy was turning away to stick his nose in a book that was on his nightstand.

Harry knew he’d won in this exchange, because now he had something to hold over Snape when the Slytherin didn’t have anything of equal value to assure mutual destruction, and a big part of him was crowing inside with joy. But on the heels of that understanding was also the feeling of pressure being released, and after a bit of thought he realised it was because that air of understanding that had persisted between the two boys since yesterday, the unsureness it brought and the undercurrent of some strange potential, had vanished.

They were comfortably back to their own sides, with the animosity and resentful hatred that had been simmering since the train ride back in their proper place.

And Harry was a bit bewildered to find that a small part of him felt mopey and sad about that loss.

He forgot all about it, of course, by the time Slytherin won the House Cup, for the seventh time in the row, and what he had to look forward to was a stern talking to by Remus and Sirius about that same animosity and Professor McGonagall catching them in the act of getting their revenge, when Snape had gotten away with hurting Seamus so badly.

At least, he forgot it until the following year, when the Chamber of Secrets was be opened and the Heir of Slytherin tried to strike terror into the heart of the school with his ancestor’s monster.


	5. December 1980 - The Night the World Failed to Stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the aftermath of the evening of Voldemort's fall and the Potters' death. The evening is described through Dumbledore's recollection in Chapter 5 of _The Lion, The Snake and The Stone_ , and also ties directly with Chapter 4 (26th Dec) of _Padfoot and Moony's Excellent Adventures in Parenting_ (the chapter posted together with this one, where I've also given a bit of a summary of what happened that evening in Dumbledore's office, since I'll only be writing that scene once, and it's the last chapter of _The Path Not Tread_ ). My suggestion is actually to read that other chapter first (and if you are avoiding EAiP because you dislike the two Marauders, I hope you nonetheless give the previous couple of chapters there a chance, they show Sirius' side of learning of James and Mary's deaths and I consider these three chapters to be a package), as the events do tie into Lily's section here. But I wouldn't say that it's strictly necessary (obviously, though, the events depicted in this chapter are not from either Remus' or Sirius' POV).
> 
> For those who would just appreciate a refresher - the Potters died earlier because Dumbledore had not warned either them or the Longbottoms of the existence of the Prophecy, and after their death, in the course of explaining all this to the young generation, Dumbledore became resistant to giving Harry to Sirius to raise, insisting instead that Mary's Muggle grandmother would be a better option. Severus managed to Legilimise him and learn that the reason for this was self-serving, which caused Dumbledore to lose the trust of the group (people present were Alice and Frank, Severus and Lily, Sirius and Remus, and Regulus, who is the spy in Severus' stead, having gone to Dumbledore for help with the Horcrux instead of trying to destroy it alone). Knowing that he would lose Severus forever, and only now understanding that their long years of working together have made him think on the Slytherin as a surrogate son, Dumbledore allowed them to question him and Severus to read his mind as the only option to preserve the relationship he had built with Severus. This led to further exposure of Dumbledore's numerous canonical mistakes. Obviously, no one is feeling charitable towards Dumbledore in the aftermath, and Severus in particular is heartbroken, because Dumbledore was the only positive and involved parental role model he'd had until that moment.

Sirius was the first who rose in the end, after everything had been said and done.

He startled Alice with his abrupt movement, and she stared in mute silence as the younger boy appeared to not quite know what to do with himself, his eyes bouncing from Remus to his brother, from Regulus to Severus, from there to Lily, gluing themselves to Harry’s tiny sleeping form, before bouncing back to Remus, and almost startling himself when his gaze was met.

Whatever communication passed between the two Gryffindor boys, it was nonverbal, and Alice certainly didn’t know either of them well enough to deduce what was being asked and answered, but in response, Sirius glared at Dumbledore one last time, and then swept through the room straight to the fireplace and with jerky, frustrated motions, threw the Floo powder into the flames and vanished back to his own address.

The silence regained its hold on the room, and Alice slumped lightly into her chair.

If not for pure luck, her best friend’s fate could have been hers, and her son’s burden could have been Neville’s. She could not quite comprehend it.

James and Mary were dead. She could still not quite comprehend that, either. James and Mary were dead, for a prophecy that foretold the fall of Lord Voldemort, a prophecy that Albus Dumbledore had kept purposely from them while he had his think on what to do with it, how to _use_ this information, the information about _their very lives_ , and for his wish to take his sweet time, two people had paid with their lives, and a little baby had become an orphan.

Alice felt disgust roil in her stomach.

It was a feeling she’d never encountered before, though she thought she knew what it was. She’d never hated anything in her life, never felt physically repulsed by anything, let alone mentally. She had thought, until tonight, that she’d simply not been built that way. She knew that this was perhaps a flaw, that it made her too soft and too willing to give people unearned leeway, to put too much of herself in and not even be angry about getting too little back for it. But now that there was this disgusting, unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach, now that every time she looked on the slumped, defeated, drained figure of their leader, she had an almost triumphant gladness that in the end, he was suffering as well, at least for falling so low in their eyes, she couldn’t help but be thankful that she was not the type to hold grudges and hate people. Looking at Severus Snape, who _was_ that type, it certainly appeared a bad way to live, and the sooner she stopped feeling this way, the sooner Alice knew she’d be able to really try and accept the events of the evening and night.

She jumped lightly when Frank placed his hand on her neck and squeezed in support. He’d startled her. Meeting his eyes was enough to let her know that they would be speaking on the events of the night as soon as opportunity presented itself, and that he himself had quite a bit to say on everything. There was that mulishly determined edge to his gaze she knew meant he’d made up his mind on something and would be doing it come hell or high water.

At the moment, Alice was fine with whatever he wished, because she herself wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

But first, there was the matter of another baby keeping Neville company at their home, whose parents needed to take him back.

Lacing his fingers with hers the moment she got up, Frank walked them two steps over to Severus, who was exchanging quiet words with Regulus Black; the two Slytherins obviously had some sort of prolonged history. At the moment, Alice found himself rather inclined towards the aristocratic boy.

He may not have managed to get the message to them in time to save James and Mary, but he definitely helped them get on top of things as quickly as possible, and, as it was turning out, his quick answer to Voldemort’s last move also allowed Remus to manage Sirius during his bout of insanity earlier in the evening, when he’d wanted to go all alone after Peter Pettigrew. Who knew where he’d be if he’d heard of the attack through the Auror Corps, instead of through the friend that knew him so well.

They had lost more than enough people for one night, was Alice’s opinion.

“Severus,” Frank drew the younger man’s attention. The two Slytherins said their good-nights before Severus turned towards them. “We are ready to head home.”

“Very well; let me just– Lily.”

Turning her head a bit, Alice watched as her best friend walked up to them, Harry still cradled carefully in the wrap carrier. The two didn’t say anything, only gazed into each other’s eyes for a bit. Then Lily squeezed her partner’s hand, pinched her lips in a sorrowful gesture, and nodded.

“I’ll be back as soon as I’m sure Remus and Sirius are settled with Harry until tomorrow,” she promised him, then turned to Alice and Frank. “Would you mind if we met up at your place tomorrow for a late breakfast, to talk over the practicalities for the coming days and weeks?”

“No, of course not,” Frank answered. “Whom were you thinking of inviting?”

“Just the six of us for now, at least until we decide on which approach to take with the rest of the Order. In light of Albus’ actions tonight, I’m afraid it’ll be up to us to coordinate things from now on, and I think the older members might be resistant, given our ages and the... radicalness, let’s say, of our ideas.”

“All right,” Alice agreed. “Go take care of Harry, and we’ll take Severus with us to get Evan.”

Smiling wanly, Lily nonetheless moved forward for an embrace, awkward as it was with a baby squished between them. Still, their heads were close enough that when Lily whispered in her ear: “I’m so glad it wasn’t you,” Alice was the only one who heard, and her breath hitched as tears flooded her eyes.

Merlin help her, she’d been thinking that same thing since the moment she heard the words ‘ _born as the seventh month dies_ ’. She’d been trying so hard _not_ to think them, not to even go in that direction of thought, because there was enough to deal with without the unadulterated terror that lay on that path, and the guilt that clenched her heart.

Sniffing, she wiped her cheeks as she watched Remus and Lily vanish into the flames, an overwhelming wave of fondness for her best friend and relief flooding her for a moment. Awkwardly phrased tough it was, she knew that Lily could not have _actually_ meant what someone who did not know them might have assumed – no, Lily would _never_ have been willing to trade Mary for Alice or vice-versa, and she would not have missed Alice any more than she was missing Mary. What she’d meant was that in the utter darkness of today’s events, they at least still had each other, and with that one sentence, she’d lessened Alice’s burden of survivor’s guilt, because in grasping Lily’s meaning, Alice realised that she had known it so easily exactly because she felt the same way.

When they emerged in their sitting room, the three magicals were met by Darling, the one house-elf that Frank had taken with from his parents’ home when they’d married. Having been more or less his nanny throughout his childhood, she was now the head of the household, managing the admittedly low number of exactly one other house-elf, her own son.

“Mistress Longbottom is abed,” she informed them promptly. “Little master Neville has been fed, and young Evan has not awoken since you left.”

“Thank you, Darling,” Frank said, exhaling tiredly. “Severus will be taking Evan home with him, and we will be going to bed as well, so you are free for the night. We will have guests tomorrow around eleven, so we’ll need a larger breakfast setting.”

“Yes, sir, Master Frank. Darling and Blanky will be sure to have everything prepared.”

“Good. Go get some rest, now.”

With a quick nod, the elf Disapparated out, and Alice took over leading Severus up to the nursery. When he’d brought his son earlier in the evening, Frank had been too leery of him to let him further than three steps from the fireplace, so Alice had been the one to take Evan up and settle him with Neville in his cot. Now, there was no question any longer about whether they trusted Severus or not, and Alice had no hesitation about leading him into the depth of their home.

She stayed by the door to the nursery while Severus stepped up to the cot and very gently lifted his son into his arms. When he had a firm hold, the dour man bent his head down next to his baby’s and simply remained still for a minute or two, murmuring something that was too low for Alice to catch, and looked too intimate to intrude on. Watching the two of them, though, told Alice more about who Severus Snape was than the four years she’d observed him at Hogwarts, or all the stories she’d ever heard about him from Lily, because it was enough to witness the quiet, subtle love he showed his son for her to believe that there was goodness enough in him.

Frank, to Alice’s absolute pleasure, extended his hand to Severus once they’d returned to the fireplace.

“Take care until tomorrow, Severus.”

“You as well; I mean it quite seriously, Frank,” he reiterated, “if the Death Eaters know that Neville could also have been the child of the prophecy, then they might try getting revenge for the Dark Lord’s demise. Do not let your guard down; the war isn’t over yet.”

“We know,” Alice assured him. “And you be careful, as well.”

“Always,” he assured them. “Good night.”

When he was gone, Alice leaned heavily against Frank and yawned in spite of herself.

“I know that you wanted to discuss everything, but I honestly can’t, not tonight.”

“It’ll keep until tomorrow, love,” Frank assured her. “Come on, let’s get ready for bed.”

Only when she’d taken Neville into her arms and curled into Frank’s strong, protective hold did Alice manage to unwind enough to sob herself to sleep, knowing that her little family had avoided death and destruction by a hair’s breadth, guiltily thankful that her son and her husband where there with her, safe and sound, and the burden had fallen on someone else.

She only desperately wished, with her whole being, that the price for that hadn’t been the life of one of her best friends.

* * *

 

“Severus, we need to speak, and soon,” Regulus told his primary Order contact who had become his best friend in the past year once Sirius had stormed out of Dumbledore’s office. “Regarding the Ministry’s course in light of the Dark Lord’s vanishing, and... why he isn’t dead. It is time you knew the full extent of things.”

Given everything that had been said tonight, about Albus Dumbledore’s leadership and propensity for secrets, it was not a hard course of action to decide on. No, Regulus at the moment had no faith in the old Headmaster, because they hadn’t gone after the Locket – the _Horcrux_ – in time, he had taken his time there just as much as he had with the Prophecy, and now they were all in limbo for the foreseeable future, neither under the threat of war, nor fully free of the Dark Lord’s shadow.

It burned, having to rely on Dumbledore for his own freedom once the Ministry caught up with the highly-positioned Death Eaters, even just a little bit (he’d until this evening not counted on Sirius _ever_ standing up for him in any way, but from his behaviour tonight, Regulus couldn’t but help that tiny, smouldering flame of hope that was the product of his childhood self, who had once, a long, long time ago, adored his brother above everyone else). But he, perhaps most of all his age-mates in the room tonight, had never _trusted_ Dumbledore, and for him, the old wizard’s machinations were not so very shocking or hurtful, so much as rather insulting, given the danger he had put himself in every single day since he’d chosen to beg at Severus’ feet over going into certain death alone in a pathetic hope that a house-elf would be able to figure out a way of destroying a Horcrux of all things.

But he did hurt sympathetically for his best friend – Severus, next to Dahlia, had been his biggest crutch since he’d turned sides, and the older boy had done so without a single voiced complaint, without a single derisive comment or insult. And to him, Dumbledore was almost a parental figure, possibly the only real adult that Severus had trusted. For his beliefs and perceptions to be so betrayed as they were tonight... Regulus imagined that it wasn’t even close to how his own regard for his brother had turned rotten in the years after James Potter had come into Sirius’ life, but he thought it wasn’t wholly dissimilar, either. He hoped dearly that Lily Evans was up to the task of helping her partner through it, because Severus _needed_ someone in his corner absolutely, someone whom he could place his trust in without ever fearing it being betrayed.

From what he’d learned of Lily in the last year, he thought she was _more_ than capable of being exactly that.

“Severus,” Frank Longbottom interrupted their conversation, and Severus nodded.

“We can meet tomorrow evening, that will have given us time to evaluate the immediate response after the news breaks tomorrow of the Dark Lord’s demise,” Severus suggested, then turned to the other man demanding his attention.

Leaving his friend to speak with the Longbottoms, Regulus took one last look at Dumbledore’s unmoving figure at the desk before leaving. The image of the man, sitting in his chair almost as if he’d been a rag squeezed utterly dry, followed him all the way through the spinning motion of the Floo to the public one in Diagon Alley and from there to the flat he quietly shared with Dahlia – becoming a spy for Light, though it had seemed necessary then and still did in spite of everything, had placed the girl he loved, whom he’d only been courting at the time, in danger. He’d admitted it all to her on the night he’d asked her to marry him, his usual foolishness and too trusting nature (for a Slytherin, at least) getting the better of him, because he’d wished, so very quietly, to have the sort of relationship with his wife that he’d seen Severus have with Lily in those interim months. And, in spite of everything telling him it wouldn’t be so, Dahlia had validated his trust in her, his love for her, by agreeing to stand by him and being his steadfast support through all the stressful, frightening months that had led them to this night, and the Dark Lord’s temporary fall.

So they’d needed a safe place for the two of them, where no one would be able to find her should the worse come to worst, and Regulus had sent her there the moment he’d realised what had happened. Dahlia certainly spent more time in that little flat than at home, anyway; while she was expert at handling Walburga, the animosity between the two women in Regulus’ life and home had only continued to simmer since they’d moved into Grimmauld Place, Regulus’ brief stint at bachelor life coming to a depressing, if fully expected, end.

Now she was waiting for him at the tiny dining table when he finally got back to the flat, clad in her nightgown tied loosely above her still mildly protruding belly, and she didn’t hesitate to rise up and engulf him in a strong hug that he needed. Regulus’ heart constricted; Merlin, but he loved this amazing girl so much.

Without word, Dahlia took his hand and tugged him towards the bed in the far end of the room. She helped him strip down to his underwear before tugging him into bed with her. Regulus let her do it, feeling the exhaustion catch up with him. He curled up against her, resting his cheek to her belly, knowing it was ridiculous but still feeling closer to his unborn child in that way, his little miracle.

And speaking softly, he told his wife everything that had happened, while she ran her fingers gently through his hair and held him closer when he finally broke down and began crying out of sheer relief mid-way through his tale, because at least for now, it was _over_ , the Dark Lord was gone, and at least now they had time on their side to finish him off, now there was a future his friends and allies were going to make better than the one that had hung over them even yesterday, a future in which his only child would have a chance to grow into the person they wanted to be, into someone better than either Regulus or his brother were, someone whose parents loved them without condition or reserve.

And he cried, too, for his brother and the vicious satisfaction that writhed in his gut at the thought that the boy who had replaced him in the regards of the once most important person in his life was dead. James Potter had been the beginning of the end of Regulus’ relationship with his brother, the one who had strutted in and become Sirius’ brother at the expense of his blood kin, the one who made him into the worst possible version of himself, made him sneer and roll his eyes at Regulus’ every attempt to get him to settle down and not cause stirs in the household, to whom Sirius had run in the end, leaving Regulus behind with the hole in his life where his big brother used to be and all the responsibilities of the Black family heir, that had by rights been his.

Regulus wasn’t a vicious person by nature, not without just reason, and his father had seen it from the start, had identified that flaw in his ‘spare’ and had done his best to eradicate it. He had taught Regulus how to be ruthless in business and politics, and in his private life, he’d tried to mould Regulus into the ideal that he’d wanted out of a son, into someone who was never exploited because he never showed vulnerability, because he attacked first.

His mother had been the one who’d tried to teach him to revel in it, and now that he was going to be a father, now that he’d gone through hell and back in order to secure a better future of his only child, now Regulus resented her for it, because it was in such opposition to the secret tenderness he felt for his little family of two, soon three, that way in which she’d raised him and Sirius. She’d taught him nothing he ever wanted to impart on his own child, those skills that had served him so well in playing the spy, nothing he ever wished them to need in their life like he had needed them.

He could not be done with that role, not until the Dark Lord was dead, his soul gone to the deepest of hells. But he swore that he would do better by his child, would use all that ruthlessness and determination his parents had taught him, to ensure that his baby would have a better time of it, would not be such a bloody fool as to join a monster simply because they were driven by a desperate need of parental approval, like he had been, would make certain that no one would _ever_ be able to manipulate and force his little one the way that people had done to him from his very first memory.

As for the dark, dangerous feeling in the pit of his gut, that gladness for the events that had transpired, not only because they had bought them all time to ultimately win this war for good, but also because with James Potter gone, there was a chance, a hope, small and idiotic as it was, that Regulus could get his brother back again, well that, he held dear and nurtured it, even though he knew the idealistic fools who followed the Light openly and willingly would be repulsed by it, because it was what sustained his hope, and at least until he was certain either way, whether there was a chance for him and Sirius to mend their ways, he was not going to let it go.

In the end, between the two people competing for that role in Sirius’ life, there was a chance that he had won, a chance that had not existed yesterday.

And for that, he was never going to be sorry.

* * *

 

Occlumency had served Severus well again and again in his twenty years on this Earth, and it did not fail him when he needed this skill the most. Getting that glimpse into Albus’ mind, seeing the thought that formed his private justification for his action, of manipulating a child in so many ways alike to his own son, immeasurably young and innocent and helpless by depriving him of his birthright and the family his parents had chosen for him in case of their demise,

( _Placing Harry with people ignorant of our world isn't the only way to make the boy understand the preciousness of it, or to make him trust me the way you don't seem to._ Those are your thoughts, then? You are no better than Grindelwald or Riddle, and I am ashamed to be your protégé)

it was one of the worst moments of his life, and his magic, so attuned to his need for self-preservation, had risen up, Occluding his mind from the emotional pain, letting him keep a clear head through the hours that followed.

But if Severus had learned something, it was that debts always came due, and the price for Occluding emotion was a very steep one.

He just needed to hold on a little longer, just a bit longer, until it was safe enough to fully experience it all.

Alice led him to her nursery, though she stayed at the door, for which Severus was grateful – and appreciative of the trust she was showing him by doing so, because Evan was comfortably ensconced in his green wearable blanket, his head resting endearingly close to the other infant’s. Neville, though six weeks younger, was bigger than Severus’ preemie, chubby and a bit puffy, his sparse hair so blonde that it was practically white, a stark contrast to Evan’s raven wisps.

Gently, so gently, Severus lifted his son out of the cot and settled the infant’s head against his own collarbone, feeling Evan unconsciously rub his cheek against Severus’ scratchy woollen robes and make a soft moan of complaint.

“I know, my little light,” Severus whispered to him, resting his cheek against his son’s temple and feeling the echo of that whaling, impossible feeling that had lodged in his chest and refused to leave from the first glimpse he’d gotten of this little man; his mental shields were holding, but as grateful as he was for it, he resented it as well, because painful though that feeling was, he had been greedy for it for months (for years, really, if in very different ways, because love was love, no matter its form, and only Evan could have fully taught him that). “We’re going home now. It’s time you ate, and Mama will be back just as soon as we’re done.”

Taking a fortifying breath, he walked back to Lily’s best friend and accepted the baby bag she was offering to him, the one he’d brought with when he’d brought Evan to her home. In silence, they walked back down to the fireplace, and when Frank Longbottom extended his hand to Severus, the Slytherin took it without hesitation, his wariness around the Auror having grown into respect over the course of the evening – and thinking that he was going to be gratified tomorrow that he’d earned that respect in return from the older man, as well.

He set about preparing Evan’s bottle almost mechanically, using magic more than usual because he refused to let go of his son even for an instant. Now that he was all alone, with no one to see, it was harder to keep his mental shields in place, and Evan was his anchor. He had to hold out a bit longer, just until Lily returned, and then he knew it would finally be fully safe to confront everything.

He was settled on the sofa chair within minutes of arriving home, his robes opened at his chest in order to feel his son’s skin against his own, Evan rearranged  in his usual feeding position; he’d taken every chance at feeding his infant son that Lily provided him with, cherishing this bonding time and cursing the Dark Lord and this bloody war for stealing so much of his time from fatherhood. He’d been terrified, once upon a time, of utterly failing, his role models having never been anything he wished on any child of his. But Lily’s and Albus’ support had carried him through the first fraught weeks, and he’d determinedly ploughed on until he’d stopped being so very awkward in his role as a father, and had grown comfortable with it.

Albus’ support, which was now worth as much as that of his dead father and his absent mother, turned to ashes in his mouth by tonight’s events.

Yanking his thoughts forcibly away – _not yet_ , _not yet, just a bit longer_ – Severus instead focused on his manual task, making sure to burp Evan after the boy had polished off the bottle. Then he carried it back into the kitchen for cleaning and sterilization, and wandered back into the sitting room to await Lily’s return.

Somehow or other, he found himself on the floor this time, not caring a bit about it. His mind was growing cottony and stuffed from exhaustion and mental shields both, and for a time, after a while, he found that the only thing he could properly focus on was Evan babbling sleepily into his collarbone, the infant’s warm breaths feeling moist and ticklish on his skin and chest hair.

With what little mental strength he had left, he begged Lily to come back to him as quickly as she could.

* * *

 

Feeling as if she’d been run over by a truck that then backed up over her to make sure she stayed down, Lily finally arrived home past three in the morning. The sight that greeted her broke her heart, and she covered her mouth with her hand to keep her trembling breath from escaping.

Severus was on the floor, leaning against the sofa with his legs pulled up protectively. He was holding their infant son in his arms as if Evan was the only thing keeping him glued together, his robes and the shirt beneath unbuttoned to allow them skin-to-skin contact. Evan’s green eyes were sleepy but open, and he seemed quite content to simply rest against his father’s bare chest and listen to his heartbeat.

It took Lily three steps to cross the room and fall down to her knees beside them. She guided Severus’ head up to meet his bloodshot, dry eyes, and placed a possessive, firm kiss on his lips that he returned only passively, her other hand moving to cup her son’s head. Neither of them closed their eyes, unwilling to break that connection even though it was utterly distorted at this distance.

“I’m here, Severus. I’m here for you,” she whispered into the space between their lips, cupping the back of his head in a mirror of the hold she had on their son. “You can let go now.”

One laboured breath, then another, and another. The fourth was a sob, soft and strangled. The fifth was a sob as well, heart-rending  and loud in the quiet of their flat. Severus’ face distorted into a horrific grimace, and he pinched his eyes tightly shut as fat teardrops slipped down his cheeks, his mouth open and breath hitching desperately between one sob and the next, which came like a torrent buffeted the windows in the night, unstoppable and forceful.

Lily shifted from her knees to her side on the floor and took all of Severus’ weight onto herself, wrapping him up as close against herself as he could go, letting him keep hold of the baby, cocoon Evan between them, and paid no mind when the infant began whimpering himself, distressed for his parents’ distress.

And she closed her eyes and began sobbing as well, letting go of all the control and strength she’d been clutching through the night, allowing herself to feel, for the first time since the news had fully registered, the agony of tonight’s loss, of her best friend and of her partner’s faith in yet another parental figure, of her own trust in the man dashed against the rocks of Dumbledore’s mistakes.

They held on, their little family of three, alone in all the world except for each other, and grieved violently for all the loss and heartache that had been delivered upon them this night, this horrible Christmas that made them feel the cruelty of time, because for so many of them, the world had stopped, _stopped_ , in one way or the other, and yet the world itself didn’t know it, kept spinning lazily away, moving inexorably forward, uncaring and unfeeling for the gaping holes that had torn their lives almost completely apart.

Together, they cried, for an indeterminate amount of time, that felt like eons and yet was not nearly enough. Evan, in the end, made them pull themselves together, as he had been doing since the day Lily had realised that she was carrying him in her womb. Their little boy began screaming, finally running out of patience, in discomfort and distress at the situation they’d so uncaringly put him into, and Severus drew himself up first, hiccoughing and sniffing as he let Lily take their tiny almost-six-month-old from his arms and attempt to calm him and put him down for the rest of the night.

It didn’t take too long; it never did. When he was fussy, Evan could be quite loud and demanding, but he was an easily satisfied baby who otherwise preferred his internal peace. As soon as his mother began seeming more like herself, he quieted down.

“I fed him,” Severus said softly, clearing his throat twice and still sounding as if he was speaking from a barrel. Lily acknowledged his comment with a nod and busied herself with her child, but as soon as Evan was asleep – a bit longer than usual, and each moment more frustrating than the last, but Lily had plenty of practice at being patient – she returned to Severus, who had by then migrated to their bed and was curled up on his side, facing hers.

Lily stripped down without even caring that she was leaving her robes on the floor and pulled on her warm pyjamas before burrowing into the thick covers of their bed. Without hesitation, Severus wrapped his arm around her midriff and tugged her close, so that they ended up completely tangling their legs together and wound their arms around each other, seeking and giving comfort in equal measure.

It was Lily this time who broke down first, the quiet aftermath of the previously violent release of grief, her breath hitching lightly, her tears slipping unheeded down her nose and cheek to wet her pillow. Severus joined her as well, burrowing his head into her neck and dampening her top collar in moments, but crying silently this time, keeping his grief for himself.

They fell asleep like that, and in the morning, the pain was packed away, because it was a new day, and there was far too much work to be done to indulge in their grief freely.

But for a while after, they used the night to process it, drawing strength from each other and the courage to flay their hearts open and let all the pain out, knowing that the other would always be there to pick up the pieces and put them back together again by morning.


	6. May 1992 - Escaping History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with one part of the aftermath of the big bullying scene in Chapter 20: Spectres of the Past of _The Lion, The Snake and The Stone_ , so chronologically it falls right after Albus and Minerva's conversation in that chapter. This is the first completely Snily chapter, also, so hopefully satisfying for those who keep wishing I'd get a move on with that part of _The Path Not Tread_.
> 
> Background reminders - Harry and his friends attacked Evan as retaliation for Evan putting Seamus Finnigan in the hospital wing for three days, and are caught by McGonagall, who proceeds to inform both Dumbledore and all the parents of the children, in an effort to put a stop to such behavior. Additionally, there was an incident previously where Draco Malfoy called Lily 'Mudblood' and Evan performed Accidental magic in his anger, lashing out with a botched Dark spell, though Draco was not seriously injured. Aside from that, Lily had a stillbirth in 1984 that raised a whole host of issues in her marriage with Severus and eventually led to her completely abandoning any and all involvement with politics that she had in the period from the end of the war to the stillbirth so that she would save her marriage. She is also Neville's godmother, and both Alice and Mary (Harry's mother) were her best friends, incidentally also pregnant at the exact same time as her.

Severus was in the middle of copying out his hastily scribbled notes on a new potion into his laboratory notebook as Lily cooked dinner for them when the knocking on the door interrupted their until then rather uneventful evening. Exchanging mildly puzzled looks – their address was not public knowledge, and their friends and colleagues normally sent an owl ahead of themselves, so usually they didn’t really get unexpected visitors – Severus rose from his chair and went to open the door.

He found himself blinking once or twice in surprise when it turned out to be Albus of all people.

“Not taking your leisure with the Floo?” he asked, smirking slightly at his mentor and surrogate father. Albus liked popping by unannounced, though he always firecalled to check that he was not interrupting anything before coming through. To see him at the door was a bit amusing, actually.

“Ah, not this time, I’m afraid, my boy,” Albus answered, sounding rather grave. With a frown, Severus let him through and closed the door after he’d entered.

“What’s this about, then?”

“I think it’d be best if I spoke with both you and Lily at the same time. I’m afraid I’ve got some news neither of you will much like.”

Worry mounting, Severus led him into the kitchen, where Lily greeted him with a quick hug. Seating himself back in his usual spot at the kitchen table, Severus offered one of the other chairs to the old wizard.

“A letter should arrive for you a bit later in the evening,” Albus began, “but we both agreed that perhaps this news is better delivered in person.”

“Has something happened at the school?” Lily asked, turning off the stove to join them at the table. “Is it Evan?”

“I’m afraid so. He is fine, it is nothing exceedingly grave,” he hurried to assure them, which paradoxically only made Severus that much more worried, “but apparently, he has been in several altercations over the school year, and Minerva has only today managed to discover the perpetrators.”

“Altercations? You mean, fighting?” Lily asked with honest confusion in her voice.

“Whom with, Albus?” Severus demanded, able to read the situation much better than his wife.

“I’m afraid it was with Harry Potter and his friends. Today hasn’t been the first such attack, on either side from what Minerva’s informed me.”

There was rushing in his ears, and from one blink of an eye to the next, Severus was no longer in his kitchen, working away on a task he enjoyed, living the life he’d built with the love of his life; he was instead back at Hogwarts, the skinny, impoverished, disliked boy tormented by the popular Quidditch player and his posse, always on guard, always fearful of running afoul of them.

The sound of a mighty clatter snapped him back to the present, and he found himself standing with his hands planted firmly on the table, his chair upturned behind him, and the fury boiling his blood in ways he’d almost forgotten it could.

“Severus!” Lily exclaimed, jumping to her feet as well. Severus ignored her, meeting Albus’ eyes, which were shaded and stoic.

“ _My son_ is being _bullied_ by _James Potter’s spawn_ , and you only now saw fit to inform me?!”

“I did not know before today,” was Albus’ infuriating answer. Severus slammed his hands against the table, making everything rattle and a couple of his books slip to the floor with a bang.

“ _Not good enough!_ ” he bellowed. “He was under your care, Albus! My son! My _only_ child, having to deal with the _same blasted thing_ that I was forced to during _my_ time?!”

“I run a school, Severus, not a prison ward,” Albus answered, an undercurrent of magic in his voice that made it almost echo in the kitchen. “I can act only when I become aware of the problem, and your son has inherited a rather impractical tendency of keeping things to himself and trying to solve his own problems, no matter their size.”

“What are you saying, Albus?” Lily butted in.

“On a previous incident, he refused to name his attackers; not too long after that, Seamus Finnigan came under Madam Pomfrey’s care for three days. While nothing could be proven, Misters Finnigan, Potter, Thomas and Weasley are adamant that Evan was responsible, and Minerva is inclined to believe them.”

“How _dare you_ blame the victim in this, Albus!” Severus growled, spittle flying from his mouth. “How _dare you_?!”

“And who was it that taught those boys to hate each other in the first place?” the Hogwarts Headmaster challenged. “Perhaps I should blame you and Sirius?” Severus felt a surge of white-hot rage spread through him, and he slammed his hands against the table again. Albus didn’t even blink. “Or would you like me to apologise to you again for mishandling his and his friends’ attacks on you? Is there anything that I can say to you that would make you calm down and listen, Severus?”

“Go to hell, Albus!”

It was either walking away or upturning the table, and Lily was on the other side of it – Severus chose to walk away, the anger stronger than he’d felt in more than a decade scorching in his very blood.

* * *

 

The silence in the kitchen rang in Lily’s ears – or maybe that was simply the echo of Severus’ shouts in her mind that screamed.

She wanted to scream herself. She wanted to go after him. She wanted to put Harry over her knee and give him a good spanking. She wanted to Apparate to Hogwarts this instant and get her son out of there and never let him out of her sight.

She did none of those things, and instead clenched the edge of the table until it bit into the skin of her palms, and breathed heavily, waiting herself out.

Lily had learned long ago that she was incapable of thinking clearly during the first blast of strong emotion, and that any decisions she made in that state always ended up being wrong ones. Over the years, she’d managed to develop ways of containing them speedily, the war stealing time out from under her at every turn, but right now, she had neither the strength nor the inclination to do any such thing. Dumbledore could bloody wait her out, when he’d seen fit to take almost a whole year before noticing what was happening to her child.

A muffled slam of a door from somewhere in the house made her flinch, and after a few moments she registered a rather insistent pecking on the window.

“Would you like me to...”

“Please,” she answered, keeping her eyes tightly shut for a little while longer. Only when Albus had dismissed the owl and returned to the table did she drop herself back into her chair and take the letter from his outstretched hand. She read through it almost mechanically, noting Minerva’s more detailed description of both the incident that had brought everything to light and also Seamus Finnigan’s injury, which Lily had no difficulty believing her son to be at fault for – she was not blind about her child’s personality, and while Evan was nice enough to people when they didn’t provoke him, he was as prickly as Severus at his worst when things didn’t suit him. There had already been instances of his magic scaring away children in his primary when he’d felt harassed by them, and given Severus’ insistence on teaching him to never let anyone cow or intimidate him, this sort of response was exactly what she might have expected.

But it hurt, to know that her child was only eleven years old and already capable of this sort of viciousness – vanishing teeth and breaking legs. It hurt even more that he felt it was a necessary measure to protect himself. It hurt the most that she’d not seen it for a possibility, that she’d not considered it in all this time, how the history was liable to repeat itself when old grudges were not properly resolved, how the next generation absorbed from the previous one.

She should have; by God and Merlin both, she should have paid more attention, should have been a better mother, should have insisted Severus be a better father, should have–

“Remus and Sirius have been informed,” Albus intruded into her thoughts, and she blinked and looked up from the letter she was clutching in her hands. “As have the parents of the other boys. If you wish, I can speak with them directly as well, and I will of course provide you with the contact information for all of the parents and abide by your and Severus’ wishes on how to handle the situation going forward.”

“As you see fit,” Lily answered. “But if I were you, I’d not speak with Sirius about this without Remus, or else he might be liable to brush it off. Remus couldn’t have encouraged anything of this sort, this is Sirius’ doing, if it is anyone’s. And my bloody husband’s. Remus and I only turned a blind eye to it,” she concluded bitterly. Lily and Remus were no doubt more passively at fault, but she blamed both her best friend and herself just as much as those two overgrown children who could not put their issues properly to the side, at least in front of their kids.

“If you will permit me to share some experience with you, my dear,” Albus said, placing his hand on Lily’s forearm and waiting until she nodded to continue. “This could have as easily happened if they had not had Sirius and Severus’ interactions as instructions on it; children at that age find it necessary to establish their position in a wholly different hierarchy to the one of a family unit, yet they are still too young to be capable of instinctively and easily empathising with their peers. So long as we act promptly when such a situation arises, I believe it is mended easily enough.”

“And if not, then it stays for the rest of one’s life,” Lily noted pointedly. Albus inclined his head.

“Yes, to my great regret. I cannot change the past, much as I wish I could. I can only attempt to avoid making the same mistakes in the future. We will all be more vigilant from now on.”

“Thank you, Albus.”

Nodding once, the old wizard stood up and, with one last squeeze to Lily’s forearm, he said his good-bye and Disapparated out, leaving Lily to sit for a moment longer in the chair, Minerva’s letter now a crumpled mess in her hand.

She took a moment to pick through her emotions, to identify and classify them. Guilt and anger were a toxic mixture, and now that she was alone and free to experience them without an audience, she wasn’t certain which one would overshadow the other.

She was angry at Harry and his friends, of course she was. She could only imagine how disappointed Mary would have been to get a visit such as this from Dumbledore, how quietly wrathful she would have been over the whole affair. But more than at Harry, she was angry at his guardian, because Lily didn’t believe that children were born vicious, didn’t believe that this was something inherently in them from the start, this vileness of thought and feeling needed to enjoy tormenting others. She couldn’t, not when she remembered how gentle her own son had always been with their pets, how attentive and exuberant Harry had been with Neville when they’d been little, how forgiving and loving Ron was with his mischievous, teasing brothers whose target he often was.

They all held in themselves the capacity to do harm, to one extent or another. Lily had truly learned that only during the war, when she’d had to question how far she herself could go and when she’d had to reconcile the capabilities of those around her, her lover and her friends, and her enemies too. But she’d watched the way her sister had spoiled her son, the way she’d allowed her brutish husband to influence him. She’d watched, too, how seven children wore on Molly and Arthur’s attention and patience, how torn and overworked they were, how easily individual children slipped past their focus at any given moment. So why hadn’t she paid more attention to the way that schoolboy grudges between Severus and Sirius had been influencing Harry and Evan? Why, when she’d had so much more opportunity for it?

It was because their interactions had become such a status quo over the years that none of them even truly thought about it. It was simply everyday life that Sirius and Severus barked and growled at each other, called each other hurtful, idiotic names and constantly brought up ancient history to make each other uncomfortable. She and Remus had more or less washed their hands of it, because the stress of it hadn’t seemed worth it when those two seemed perfectly capable of behaving like reasonable adults when it was truly necessary.

Lily was someone who was quick to anger, yes, but unlike Severus, she didn’t have the temperament to nurse that anger. In worst cases in her life, she’d managed to maintain it for a few days, but sooner rather than later, she always succumbed to exhaustion and unhappiness that came with it. Her husband was the other sort, the type who’d always sustained himself on anger, who’d spent his entire childhood angry at anything and everything in his life, himself included. For him, anger burned strong until he saw fit to quench it, his natural ability to compartmentalise and push away those emotions which didn’t suit him at any given moment serving and damaging him in equal measure.

So by the time Lily finally rose from the chair and walked hazily up to the attic of their home, into the slant-roofed bedroom of her only child, guilt had won over the anger. She curled up on Evan’s bed and hugged his pillow to her face with one arm, enveloping herself in the clean, soft scent that she’d preserved there with a stasis charm for these moments when she missed him with desperation.  Her other arm snaked itself around her belly, trying to contain the gaping, yawning emptiness inside that she’d felt in waves since she’d gone to darkness one night with her child protected inside her and woken up from it with her baby gone, torn away from her by nature’s cruelty and healers’ desperation, dead and buried before Lily had even had a chance to hold or even see her tiny, underdeveloped body, her little girl stolen from her by her own inability to keep her alive.

God, but she wanted her son there with her in that moment, wanted to hold him and hug him, wanted to feel him warm and safe in her arms, to see and touch his aquiline nose, his greasy head of hair, his lashes hiding her green eyes, his long fingers and narrow shoulders, bony elbows and knobby knees. She wanted to be able to hear him breathe next to her and feel the warmth of his small body, holding his indelible curiosity and his prickly, vulnerable emotional core, wanted to keep him close and never let him go into the big, bad world, a world she’d fought _so hard_ to make better for him, and in the process had overlooked the dangers in their close circle she’d thought utterly safe.

* * *

 

Severus found his wife in their son’s room, curled up on his bed with her back to the door, in the protective pose that made a part of him break into tiny pieces all over again every time he saw it, because he knew what it meant, he knew what she was struggling with whenever he saw her that way, and he was utterly helpless to make it stop for her.

He’d spent an hour or so in his laboratory, scrubbing cauldrons and flasks, sorting ingredients and wiping surfaces, because he’d been far too angry for anything else and he’d known that Lily didn’t deserve to deal with his anger. When he’d finally managed to wrestle it under control, he’d been left with a spotless workspace and the prickling feeling of muted fury in his veins, which was manageable enough to direct into finding a solution to the issue.

It was that prickliness that made him ask, perhaps a bit too sharply: “Are you not angry in the least?”

“At whom?” Lily responded, not moving a millimetre.

“At Potter’s blasted spawn and his hooligan friends? At Sirius bloody Black and your precious wolf? At Albus and Minerva for needing a whole school year to see it? At me? Take your pick.”

She stirred, sitting up to face him, her arms wrapping protectively around her lower midriff.

“I am,” she answered, meeting his eyes with her shadowed, exhausted ones. “I’m angry at all of the above. But you know whom I’m most angry with? Myself.”

“Yourself?” Severus asked, incredulous. “What have you to be angry with _yourself_ for, Lily? This is the least your fault of everyone involved.”

“How is it not?” she snapped back, the fire leaving her as quickly as it had come. “If I’d paid more attention, if I’d kept my promise to my friends...”

“What are you talking about?”

“My promise,” she reiterated, arms tightening around her. “My promise to Mary and Alice that I’ll watch over their boys, my promise to Remus and Sirius that I’d help them, my promise, Severus, that I’d not vanish out of those children’s lives like their parents had, that I’d not be just another adult who is so involved with her own life and goals and family that she’d only care about those boys when it’s convenient for her.”

“Harry Potter was not yours to raise. And the cur made himself perfectly clear on how he saw your attempts at providing him with assistance.”

“And when had that ever stopped me before? Do you remember, right after they died, how it was? How Harry stayed with us at least once a week, while we all juggled the clean-up? He used to call me ‘Miss Lily’, and now I’m ‘Mrs Snape’. And Neville, too; I’m his godmother, for the sake of all that’s holy, and when he needed me most, I couldn’t handle him, so I pawned him off to Sirius of all people. If I’d only stayed involved, if I’d... maybe I would have prevented all of this, maybe I could have made it so that my child would not have to deal with harassment and persecution by his peers.”

Severus knew better than to tell her to stop feeling guilty; he himself had never learned to let go of guilt, not in this life and he doubted in any other either. But her distress served better at cooling his anger than an hour of Occlumency had, and he crossed his arms over his chest, keeping his distance and their eye contact, giving her the space she needed to voice what troubled her so much.

“You were right, back then. You were so right, about the CMB and the politics and my insane need to make everything perfect, and how much I was throwing away for it. And I haven’t stopped since, I haven’t learned anything from almost destroying our marriage, I’ve only changed my focus and even that I’ve messed up. My son, whom I was so proud of, always, capable of doing something like this,” she said, pointing to the letter left forgotten on Evan’s night table.

Taking three steps, Severus picked up the letter and read perfunctorily through it, ignoring the spike of anger he felt at Minerva’s description of Potter’s attack on his son, and instead focusing on her explanation regarding Seamus Finnigan’s injuries. Vanished teeth. The fall. The broken leg. Three days in the hospital wing.

“I shouldn’t have let you convince me to dismiss the incident with Draco Malfoy so easily. We should have done something jointly about it back then, I knew I should have insisted.”

Severus shook his head and peered at his wife down his hooked nose.

“You know he did not intend that magic against Draco; it was Accidental magic, and Albus was more than clear on how upset he’d been over the thought of being seen as ‘Dark’. As for this – the vanished teeth were intentional, no doubt, but the fall was likely accidental. He did not intend all of this, either.”

“Oh, didn’t he, Severus? The same way you never intend to put James and the others in the hospital wing every time you went after them as retaliation?” she asked sharply.

“Of course I intended it every time,” Severus admitted without guilt over the satisfaction he’d always gotten out of it. “But there is a big difference between me and Evan.”

“Which is?”

“I didn’t have you for a mother.”

She exhaled in a dismissive huff, and Severus crouched down at her feet and placed his hand on her knee, as much for balance as for comfort.

“Lily, you will listen to me now. I have taught Evan to stand up for himself and never let others terrorise him, yes. My mother taught me nothing else but perseverance and survival by any means necessary, as you very well know. _You_ are the one who has taught him empathy and kindness, who has taught him not to strike pre-emptively and to always fall back on moderation first when he feels it to be the only recourse left to him. _You have not failed him_ , do you understand me? If you need blame anyone, then blame me, for not having anything more to offer him as a father but what lessons my blasted childhood had left me with, that the Dark Lord and the War had honed in me until it is all that I had.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Lily replied with force, the fire returning to her eyes and banishing her depression and despondency. “If that was all that you were, I would not be here right now, Severus, and having a rotten childhood is what made you be a good father to him, not the other way around. I have no intention of blaming you in order to relieve my own sense of guilt.”

Severus sighed, knowing that Lily’s stubbornness rivalled his own and that pushing further on the topic would be completely fruitless. Instead, he cupped her cheek gently with his free hand and guided her softly to rest her forehead against his. Lily’s hands came up to wrap around his neck, fingers burrowing into the hair at the nape of his neck. Closing his eyes, Severus took a deep breath and let the remainder of his fury settle into familiar background anger that he’d long since learned not to let interfere with his thinking and life.

Neither of them said that it would be all right, because they’d both gone through too much for such empty platitudes to serve any purpose, but there was understanding between them nonetheless, built out of guilt and anger and sadness and determination.

Lily was the one who angled Severus’ head up and brought their lips together in a bruising, desperate kiss of affirmation which Severus instantly deepened, wishing badly that he could simply take all of her devastation and turmoil into himself through it, that he could just suck all of that burdening emotions out of her heart until she was light and pure as the first day he’d seen her, hovering in the air after throwing herself off the swing, flying as if she was made only of air and nothing could hold her down.

It was foolish thinking, of course. The carefree, naïve girl of yesteryear was not someone that could ever have fallen in love with, let alone built a life with him, him who was tarred in darkness and weighed down by bad childhood and even worse first years of adulthood. And Severus knew Lily would only shake her head if he ever told her all this, would object most strenuously, because she’d been demanding to shoulder his burdens since they were sixteen years old, and would not stand for anything else after fifteen years. It was in the way she was kissing him even now, like what she needed was to know that they were in this together and not to relieve her own heavy heart.

But Severus had had a very long time to understand that this overwhelming need to make things better for her, to always do whatever it took to see her safe and happy, that this was a part of bone-deep, soul-permeating, unquenchable love he held in his heart for her. Sometimes it was hard to even remember back to his miserable teenhood, when he’d feared that love of any kind was beyond his grasp – that was how powerful his feelings for Lily were today, how crystal-clear and prominent in his very being. And even though this need was a constant backseat driver to all his actions, a much larger part of him rejoiced in gaining constant proof through Lily’s actions that she felt exactly the same, that her love for him was just as strong, because she kept them on equal footing, kept them grounded and their marriage one of fair partnership, even through the worst of its times.

* * *

 

They were both breathing heavily once they finally pulled away, and for her part, Lily felt more grounded than she had fifteen minutes ago, which was a relief, because there was still a lot to consider and discuss, for which she now felt emotionally prepared.

“Why aren’t you still angry?” she asked her husband, running her thumb over his upper lip to wipe away the moisture and her own lip balm she’d transferred onto him. The drag of his afternoon stubble was pleasantly scratchy against the sensitive pad of her finger.

“Do you truly imagine I am not?” he asked her in response, lifting his eyebrow.

“I expected that you’d still be applauding Evan fighting back, not agreeing with me that what he had done to Seamus Finnigan was worrisome.”

Severus exhaled gustily and shifted to sit down on the carpet, and Lily followed suit, until they’d shuffled each other so that he was leaning against the bed and she was settled in his lap, her arm around his neck, his encircling her waist.

“You cannot comprehend the level of rage I feel over this,” Severus told her in the end. He rested his head against the bed mattress and stared into the distance a while, and Lily gave him the time he needed to put thoughts into words. “For a moment when Albus first told us, I was back then and the last fifteen years didn’t exist. That Evan has to relive my torment at the hands of another Potter...”

“But?”

He redirected his gaze to her, the intensity in it scorching enough to make Lily’s heartbeat speed up. Merlin, she loved his eyes, loved how much she could read of his inner self through them.

“You come first, Lily. Always.”

She never could stop her breath catching in her throat when he said it, that one word which held the absolute power over her, that encompassed all that she was to him and all that he had to give her.

Leaning forward, Lily rested her temple against his, holding him close with a hand on his cheek, feeling his steady breath on her neck.

“I love you. Forever.”

His next breath shook, just slightly, and she smiled and kissed him where his jaw met his ear, before pulling away so that she could see his face properly.

“If it was up to me, I would applaud him, yes,” Severus admitted heavily. “But I do not want his next six years to be like mine, if this first one had to be, and I... admit... that I do not want him to grow comfortable with the level of viciousness anywhere near what I am capable of.”

“You like his gentleness.”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “It means that he’s had a better childhood than I had. And it means that there is more of you in him than of me.”

Lily knew what he’d left unsaid – that while he knew she could be as vicious as necessary, in her case, it was something learned out of painful necessity on the cusp of adulthood and something she’d never let find its way substantially into her relationships with those close to her, neither of which was the case for him. She couldn’t fault him in the least for wanting their son to be more like her, though for her own part, it tugged her heartstrings every time she saw a new glimmer of Severus in Evan.

“We’ll need to discuss it with everyone,” she decided, licking her lips. “I will speak with Remus – and you will _stay away_ from Sirius; Severus, I mean it,” Lily ordered the moment he opened his mouth, clearly spoiling for an argument. “I am certain that a big part of what’s led to this problem is the boys seeing how you and Sirius interact and thinking it all right to emulate you without understanding anything about what’s behind it.”

“If he had kept that child in check–”

“Stop,” she said sharply. “Stop throwing blame around, that doesn’t help us and I’ve no energy for it just now, either. I’ve kept out of how you and Sirius interact because, frankly, I was just glad that you _could_ interact at all when you needed to with all the bad blood between you. But we need to deal with this constructively, and that’s not going to happen if you’re spitting mad when we sit down to discuss it. Please.”

“All right, but you make sure that cur understands _exactly_ where we stand on this.”

“I will,” Lily promised him. “And we also need to sit Evan down and talk to him about this. I can’t accept that violence is his answer before speaking to an adult about it, Severus. I simply can’t. He hadn’t mentioned a single thing about it to _us_! If he can’t trust us with his difficulties...”

Severus shook his head and squeezed Lily’s waist in comfort. “I am more likely to believe that he does not wish to be seen as an incompetent baby, than that he does not trust us. You remember how embarrassed he was over his homesickness last winter.”

That was true, but it also pointed out to a rather worrying personality trait in their child – Evan was clearly desperate enough to be taken as more mature now that he’d left home, that he was constantly overestimating his own abilities to handle his issues and letting them balloon beyond control. It was definitely something that they needed to address properly.

“I agree that he should be able to come to us at least about issues with his classmates,” Severus continued, “but I refuse to put a moratorium on violence. He needs to be able and free to defend himself if he is attacked.”

“I agree, but what he’d done to Seamus Finnigan was _not_ self-defence, Severus, that was retaliation, pure and simple. That was proactive, and all it did was make things worse. Besides, there are safer ways of self-defence than using offensive magic. And this may have been an intentional action on his part, but the incident with Draco Malfoy was not, and he fell automatically back onto Dark Magic. I _don’t like_ how cavalier he is about Dark Magic.”

Lily didn’t truly blame Severus for this – after all, she herself was quite comfortable with at least the theoretical side of the Dark Arts, having worked during the height of the War at redesigning Dark spells to be less damaging, and one of the things they’d agreed on practically from the start of her first pregnancy was to keep the Dark Arts as much away from their child or children as possible. But the fact still was that Severus had a well-deserved reputation and that kids were inquisitive little sponges who picked up on all manner of things, including those you did not wish them to, such as magic you wanted them to learn only when they were mature enough to not let it influence them.

“Very well,” her husband agreed after some quiet thought. “I will start teaching him defensive magic – no doubt that incompetent that Albus took on as this year’s DADA professor hasn’t even touched on one useful thing all year – but I will _not_ tell him to limit himself to defence if he feels that this is not enough to protect himself. His safety comes first, no matter the cost.”

“Yes,” Lily agreed firmly. “Of course, his safety comes first, and you know that I am not naïve enough to think that offence is not sometimes the best defence. I just don’t want him retaliating purposely and lashing out with something that could kill the target of his aggression. I don’t want his instincts to be violence before all.”

Like they were for Severus. Nodding, Severus indicated he’d understood the unsaid part of that sentence and that they were in agreement.

The weight of the whole situation more bearable now that they’d made concrete, unanimous plans, Lily kissed Severus, short and firm, before pulling away and clambering to her feet, her husband following suit.

“And as for me, I am going to start being more involved with Neville’s life at least,” she told him. “He’s my godson, and he deserves more from me than I’ve given him.”

“And Potter?”

She shrugged. “Depends on how this whole thing shakes out with Remus and Sirius. And at least he has those two; Neville’s all alone with Augusta and that nasty brother of hers. And Neville also still has to deal with Alice and Frank. He needs my support more of the two.”

“You should accept Meadowes’ offer, as well,” Severus said, taking her hand firmly in his as they descended towards the middle floor and making Lily’s stomach flip. Startled, she looked at him – the current Minister for Magic, their old Order friend Dorcas Meadowes, had asked her to be on a new advisory body to the Ministerial position that she wished to form, and Lily had been more than a little reluctant to accept given how much her prior involvement with the political arena had damaged her marriage and family around the time of the stillbirth. Severus hadn’t said anything much about this in the months since they’d discussed it first, but she’d not expected this.

“I thought you were against it.”

“I am not thrilled about it, but you gave up more than simply your responsibility for your friends’ children seven years ago,” he pointed out. “In spite of everything that happened, Lily, I know what being part of that movement meant for you.”

Her heart skipping a beat or two before it began hammering in her chest, Lily wrapped her arms around Severus’ neck as soon as they’d reached the landing and kissed him passionately. She was apprehensive about the whole thing – _more than_ – but the fact that he understood and forgave her to the point of being accepting of her resuming at least a part of those activities, that meant everything to her.

Of course, it wasn’t just that feeding into the frenzy that suddenly sparked into life between them in that moment, until they were stumbling towards their bedroom shedding extraneous layers of clothing with no care about where those fell, too driven by the urge to feel and taste and devour one another. It was also the final release from an emotionally difficult afternoon and the need to properly reaffirm their own convictions, the various roles they’d accepted throughout their thirty-one years of life, and their connection and devotion to each other. And when they finally finished in a sweaty, overheated tangle of limbs, Lily couldn’t help the dangerous surety that everything was going to eventually turn out all right from taking root and filling her with warmth, because she felt that as long as she had Severus by her side, she could do and face almost anything – even her own and his mistakes as parents.

Even the history they’d tried to escape, in one way or another.


End file.
